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HOME-FOLKS 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2010 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/homefolks01rile 






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NEGHBORLY POEMS 
SKETCHES IN PROSE, WITH 

INTERLUDING VERSES 
AFTERWHILES 
PIPES O' PAN (Prose and Verse) 
RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD 
FLYING ISLANDS OF THE 

NIGHT 
GREEN FIELDS AND RUN= 

NING BROOKS 
ARMAZINDY 
A CHILD-WORLD 
HOME-FOLKS 
OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 

(English Edition) 
THE GOLDEN YEAR 

(English Edition) 
POEMS HERE AT HOME 
RUBllYlT OF DOC SIFERS 
CHILD-RHYMES, WITH 

HOOSIER PICTURES 
RILEY LOVE-LYRICS 

(Pictures by Dyer) 



HOME-FOLKS 



/ 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



m 



INDIANAPOLIS 
THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Library of Cotigre^a 

Two Copies ^ECtiVED 
NOV 14 1900 

Copyria;ht oi'.try 

SECONO COPY 

Dei'vKcd to 

OROtti DIVISION 

NOV 16 1900 



75A70 4- 



^oo 



Copyright 1900 
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RiLEY 



Braunworth, Munn & Barber 

Printers and Binders 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 



TO 
MYRON W. REED 



. . . "In this business I knew that I had the 
world, the planets, and the myriad stars for 
my companions, and we were all journeying 
along together fulfilling the same divine order." 
—Joel Chandler Harris. 



CONTENTS 

Proem page 

As Created 18 

At Crown Hill 157 

At His Wintry Tent 109 

At Sea 136 

Ballad with a Serious Conclusion, A . . . . 102 

Ballade oe the Coming Rain, The 70 

Bed, The 159 

Cassander 95 

Christ, The 66 

Christmas Along the Wires 19 

Edge of the Wind, The 138 

Emerson 53 

Enduring, The 152 

Equity—? 119 

Eugene Field 101 

Feel in the Christmas-Air, A 81 

From Delphi to Camden 73 

Green Grass of Old Ireland, The 107 

Henry W. Grady 38 

• Hired Man's Faith in Children, The .... 154 
His Love of Home 42 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Home Ag'in 43 

Home-Folks 1 

Home-Voyage, The 13 

Hymn Exultant 61 

Idiot, An 150 

In the Evening 122 

Let Something Good Be Said 33 

Lincoln 57 

Loving Cup, The 87 

Mister Hop-Toad 8 

Moonshiner's Serenade 124 

Mother Sainted, The 65 

Mr. Foley's Christmas 133 

My Dan cin '-Days is Over 34 

Name oe Old Glory, The 4 

Naturalist, The 155 

Noblest Service, The 147 

Old Guitar, The 148 

O Life ! O Beyond ! 39 

On a Fly-Leae 83 

On a Youthful Portrait oe Stevenson ... 70 

One With a Song 131 

Onward Trail, The 55 

Oscar O. McCulloch 86 

Our Boyhood Haunts 11 

Our Queer Old World 110 

Peace-Hymn oe the Republic, A 129 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Red Riding Hood 64 

Rhymes oe Ironquill 115 

Say Something to Me 89 

^ermon op the Rose, The . ' 84 

Short'nin' Bread Song, A 92 

Silent Singer, The 126 

Smitten Purist, The 120 

Song of the Road, A 62 

Them Old Cheery Words 163 

To Robert Louis Stevenson 68 

To THE Judge 78 

To "Uncle Remus" 67 

Traveling Man, The 71 

Uncle Sidney's Logic 16 

Unheard, The 113 

What the Wind Said 139 

Whittier . 54 

Wholly Unscholastic Opinion, A 91 

Your Height is Ours 59 



HOME-FOLKS 



PROEM 

Tou Home- Folks : — Aid your grateful guest — 
Bear with his 'pondering^ wandering ways : 

When idlest he is busiest^ 
Being a dreamer of the days. 

Humor his silent^ absent moods — 
His restless quests along the shores 

Of the old creek^ wound through the woods ^ 
The haws, pawpaws and sycamores : 

The side-path hom^e — the back-way past 
The old pump and the dipper there ; 

The afternoon of dreamy fune — 

The old porch, and the rocking-chair. 

Tea, bear with him. a little space — 
His heart must smoulder on a while 

Ere yet it flames out in his face 
A wholly tearless smile. 



HOME-FOLKS 

Home-Folks! — Well, that-air name, to me, 

Sounds jis the same as foetry — 

That is, ef poetry is jis 

As sweet as I've hearn tell it is! 

Home-Folks — 'they're jis the same as kin — 
All brung up, same as vje have bin, 
Without no overpowerin' sense 
Of their oncommon consequence ! 

They've bin to school, but not to git 

The habit fastened on 'em yit 

So as to ever interfere 

With other work 'at's waitin' here: 

Home-Folks has crops to plant and plow, 
Er lives in town and keeps a cov*^ ; 
But whether country-jakes er town-, 
They know when eggs is up er dowi I 

I 



HOME-FOLKS 



La ! can't you sfot 'em — when you meet 
'Em anywheres — in field er street? 
And can't you see their faces, bright 
As circus-day, heave into sight? 



And can't you hear their "Howdy!" clear 
As a brook's chuckle to the ear, 
And alius find their laughin' eyes 
As fresh and clear as morning skies ? 



And can't you — when they've gone away 
Jis feel 'em shakin' hands, all day? 
And feel, too, you've bin higher raised 
By sich a meetin' ? — God be praised ! 



Oh, Home-Folks! you're the best of all 
'At ranges this terestchul ball, — 
But, north er south, er east er west. 
It's home is where you're at your best. — 

2 



HOME-FOLKS 



It's home — it's home your faces shine, 
In-nunder your own fig and vine — 
Your fambly and your neighbers 'bout 
Ye, and the latchstring hangin' out. 



Home-Folks — at home^ — I know o' one 
Old feller now 'at haint got none. — 
Invite him — he may hold back some — 
But you invite him, and he'll come. 



THE NAME OF OLD GLORY 



Old Glory! say, who, 

By the ships and the crew. 

And the long, blended ranks of the gray and the 

blue, — 
Who gave you, Old Glory, the name that you bear 
With such pride everywhere 
As you cast yourself free to the rapturous air 
And leap out full-length, as we're wanting you 

to?— 
Who gave you that name, with the ring of the 

same. 
And the honor and fame so becoming to you ? — 
Your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red, 
With your stars at their glittering best overhead — 
By day or by night 
Their delightfulest light 
4 



THE NAME OF OLD GLORY 

Laughing down from their little square heaven of 

blue!— 
Who gave you the name of Old Glory? — say, 

who — 

Who gave you the name of Old Glory? 

The old banner' lifted^ and falter htg then 
In vague lisps and whispers fell silent again. 

II 

Old Glory, — 'Speak out! — we are asking about 
How you happened to "favor" a name, so to say, 
That sounds so familiar and careless and gay 
As we cheer it and shout in our wild breezy way — 
We — the crowds every man of us, calling you that — 
We — Tom, Dick and Harry — each swinging his hat 
And hurrahing "Old Glory! " like you were our 

kin. 
When — Lord! — we all know we're as common as 

sin! 
And yet it just seems like you humor us all 
And waft us your thanks, as we hail you and fall 
Into line, with you over us, waving us on 
Where our glorified, sanctified betters have gone. — 

5 



THE NAME OF OLD GLORY 

And this is the reason we're wanting to know — 

(And we're wanting it so ! — 

Where our own fathers went we are willing to 

go-)— 
Who gave you the name of Old Glory — O-ho! — 

Who gave you the name of Old Glory? 

The old flag unfurled with a billowy thrill 
For an instant^ then wistfully sighed and was 
still. 

Ill 

Old Glory: the story we're wanting to hear 
Is what the plain facts of your christening were, — 
For your name-**-just to hear it, 
Repeat it, and cheer it, 's a tang to the spirit 
As salt as a tear; — • 

And seeing you fly, and the boys marching by, 
There's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye 
And an aching to live for you always — or die, 
If, dying, we still keep you waving on high. 
And so, by our love 
For you, floating above, 
6 



THE NAME OF OLD GLORY 

And the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof, 
Who gave you the name of Old Glory, and why 
Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory? 

The7i the old banner leaped^ like a sail in the blasts 
And fluttered an audible answer at last, — 

IV 

And it spake, with a shake of the voice, and it 

said: — 
By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red 
Of my bars, and their heaven of stars overhead — 
By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast. 
As I float from the steeple, or flap at the mast. 
Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod, — 
My name is as old as the glory of God. 

. . . . So I came by the name of Old Glory. 



MISTER HOP-TOAD 

Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad! Glad to see you out! 
Bin a month o' Sund'ys sencel seen you hereabout. 
Kind o' bin a-layin' in, from the frost and snow? 
Good to see you out ag'in, it's bin so long ago! 
Plows like slicin' cheese, and sod's loppin' over 

even ; 
Loam's like gingerbread, and clods's softer 'n de- 

ceivin' — 
Mister Hop-Toad, honest-true — Springtime — 

don't you love it? 
You old rusty rascal you, at the bottom of it! 



Oh, oh, oh! 
I grabs up my old hoe ; 
But I sees you, 
And s' I, "Ooh-ooh! 
Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad! How-dee-do!" 
8 



MISTER HOP-TOAD 

Make yourse'f more comfo'bler — square 'round at 

your ease — 
Don't set saggin' slanchwise, with your nose below 

your knees. 
Swell that fat old throat o' yourn and lemme see 

you swaller; 
Straighten up and h'ist your head! — Tou don't 

owe a dollar! — 
Hain't no mor'gage on your land — ner no taxes, 

nuther ; 
Tou don't haf to work no roads, even ef you'd 

ruther. 
'F I was you, 2iVi^Jixed like you, I railly wouldn't 

keer 
To swop fer life and hop right in the presidential 

cheer ! 



Oh, oh, oh! 

I hauls back my old hoe ; 
But I sees you^ 
And s' I, "Ooh-ooh! 
Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad ? How-dee-do!" 
9 



MISTER HOP-TOAD 

'Long about next Aprile, hoppin' down the furry, 
Won't you mind I ast you what 'peared to be the 

hurry ? — 
Won't you mind I hooked my hoe and hauled you 

back and smiled? — 
W'y, bless you, Mister Hop-Toad, I love you like 

a child! 
S'pose I'd want to 'flict you any more'n what you 

air? — 
S'pose I think you got no rights 'cept the warts 

you wear? 
Hulk, sulk, and blink away, you old bloat-eyed 

rowdy ! — 
Hain't you got a word to say? — Won't you tell 

me "Howdy"? 



Oh, oh, oh! 

I swish round my old hoe ; 
But I sees you, 
And s' I, "Ooh-ooh! 
Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad ! How-dee-do ! ' ' 

ID 



OUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS 

Ho ! I'm going back to where 
We were youngsters. — Meet me there, 
Dear old barefoot chum, and we 
Will be as we used to be, — 
Lawless rangers up and down 
The old creek beyond the town — 
Little sunburnt gods at play, 
Just as in that far-away: — 
Water nymphs, all unafraid, 
Shall smile at us from the brink 
Of the old millrace and wade 
Tow'rd us as we kneeling drink 
At the spring our boyhood knew, 
Pure and clear as morning-dew: 
And, as we are rising there. 
Doubly dow'rd to hear and see, 
We shall thus be made aware 
Of an eerie piping, heard 
High above the happy bird 
II 



pUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS 

In the hazel : And then we, 
Just across the creek, shall see 
(Hah ! the goaty rascal ! ) Pan 
Hoof it o'er the sloping green, 
Mad with his own melody, 
Aye, and (bless the beasty man!) 
Stamping from the grassy soil 
Bruised scents oijieur-de-lis^ 
Boneset, mint and pennyroyal. 



12 



THE HOME-VOYAGE 

GENERAL HENRY W. LAWTON- — FELL AT SAN 
MATEO, DEC. I9, 1 899. IN STATE, IN- 
DIANAPOLIS, FEB. 6, 1900. 

Bear with us, O Great Captain, if our pride 
Show equal measure with our grief's excess 
In greeting you in this your helplessness 
To countermand our vanity or hide 
Your stern displeasure that we thus had tried 
To praise you, knowing praise was your distress: 
But this homecoming swells our hearts no less — 
Because for love of home you proudly died. 
Lo ! then, the cable, fathoms 'neath the keel 
That shapes your course, is eloquent of you ; 
The old flag, too, at half-mast overhead — 
We doubt not that its gale-kissed ripples feel 
A prouder sense of red and white and blue, — 
The stars— Ah, God, were they interpreted! 
13 



THE HOME-VOYAGE 

In Strange lands were your latest honors won — 

In strange wilds, with strange dangers all beset ; 

With rain, like tears, the face of day was wet, 

As rang the ambushed foeman's fateful gun: 

And as you felt your final duty done. 

We feel that glory thrills your spirit yet, — 

When at the front, in swiftest death, you met 

The patriot's doom and best reward in one. 

And so the tumult of that island war, 

At last, for you, is stilled forevermore — 

Its scenes of blood blend white as ocean foam 

On your rapt vision as you sight afar 

The sails of peace, and from that alien shore 

The proud ship bears you on your voyage home. 

Or rough or smooth the wave, or lowering day 
Or starlit sky — you hold, by native right, 
Your high tranquillity — the silent might 
Of the true hero — so you led the way 
To victory through stormiest battle-fray, 
Because your followers, high above the fight, 
Heard your soul's lightest whisper bid them smite 
For God and man and space to kneel and pray. 



THE HOME-VOYAGE 

And thus you cross the seas unto your own 
Beloved land, convoyed with honors meet, 
Saluted as your home's first heritage — 
Nor salutation from your State alone. 
But all the States, gathered in mighty fleet, 
Dip colors as you move to anchorage. 



15 



UNCLE SIDNEY'S LOGIC 

Pa wunst he scold' an' says to me, 

"Don't ^/<7y so much, but try- 
To study more, and nen you'll be 

A great man, by an' by." 
Nen Uncle Sidney says, "You let - 

Him be a boy an' play. — 
The greatest man on earth, I bet, 

'Ud trade with him today!" 



i6 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 



AS CREATED 



There* s a space for good to bloo7Ji ht 
Every heart of man or woman^ — 
And however wild or hujnan^ 

Or however brhn^ned with gall^ 
Never heart may beat without it; 
And the darkest heart to doubt it 
Has something good about it 

After all. 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 



Scene — Hoosier R. R. station^ Washout Glen, 

Night — Interior of Telegraph Office — Single 
operator's table in some disorder — lunch-bas- 
ket^ litter of books and sheet-music — a flute and 
a guitar — Rather good-looking young man^ evi- 
dently in charge^ talking to cofnmercial traveler , 



/^iVCZ70iV-Station-— Pilot Knob— 

Say "the operator there 

Is a girl — with auburn hair 

And blue eyes, and purty, too, 

As they make 'em !"— That'll do!— 

They all know her 'long the Line — 

Railroad men, from President 

Of the road to section-hand! — 

And she knows us — the whole mob 

19 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

Of US lightnin^ -sling ers — Shoo! — 
Brownie^ s got us all down fine ! 
Though she's business^ understand, 
Brownie she just beats the band ! 
Brownie she's held up that job 
Five or six years anyhow — 
Since her father^ s death, when all 
The whole road decided now 
Was no time for nothin' small, — 
It was Brownie^ s job ! Since ten 
Years of age she'd been with him 
In the office. Now, I guess, 
She was sixteen, more or less — 
Just a girl, but strong and trim, 
And as independent, too. 
And reliable clean through 
As the old man when he died 
Two mile' up the track beside 
His red-light, one icy night 
When the line broke down — and yet 
He got there in time, you bet, 
To shut off a wreck all right ! 



20 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

Yes, so77ie life here, and romance — 

Pilot Knob, though, and Roachdale, 

And this little eight-by-ten 

Dinky town of Washout Glen 

Have to pool inhabitants 

Even for enough young men 

To fill out a country dance, — 

All chip in on some joint-date, 

And whack up and pony down 

And combine and celebrate, — 

Say, on Decoration Day — 

Fourth o' July — Easter, or 

Circus-Day, or Christmas^ say — 

All th7'ee towns, and right-o'-way 

For two extrys, — one from here — 

One down from the Knob. Well, then 

Roachdale is herself again ! 

Like last Christmas, when all three 

Towns collogued, and far and near 

Billed things for a Christmas-tree 

At old Roachdale. Now mark here: — 



21 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

I had leave, last Holidays, 

And was goin' home, you see, 

Two weeks — and the Company 

Sent a man to fill my place — 

An old chum of mine, in fact, 

I'd been coaxin' to arrange 

Just to have his dressin'-case 

And his latest music packed 

And come on here for a change. 

He'd been here to visit me 

Once before — in summer then, — 

Come to stay "just two or three 

Days," he said- — and he staid ten. 

When he left here then — Well, he 

Was clean gone on Brownie — wild 

And plum silly as a child ! 

Name — MacClintock. Most young men 

Stood 'way back when Mac was round. 

Fact is, he was Jine^ you know — 

Silver-tenor voice that went 

Up among the stars, and sent 

The girls back to higher-tone' 

Dreams than they had ever known ! 

A good-looker — stylish — slim — 

22 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

And wore clothes that no man downed — 

Yes, and smoked a good cigar 

And smelt right ; and used to blow 

A smooth flute — And a guitar 

No man heard till he heard him I — 

Say, some midnight serenade — 

Oomkf how drippin'-sweet he played I 

Boys^ though, wasn't stuck on Mac 

So blame much, — especially 

Roachdale operator. — He 

Kind o' had the inside-track 

On all of us, as to who 

Got most talk from Brownie, when 

She had nothin' else to do 

But to buzz us now and then 

Up and down the wires, you know ; 

And we'd jolly back again 

'Bout some dance — and "Would she go 

With us or her Roachdale beau?" 

(Boys all called him "Roachy" — see?)- 

Wire her, "Was she 'Happy now?' " 

And "How's 'Roachy,' anyhow?" 

Or, "Say, Brownie, who's the jay 

You was stringin' yesterday?" 

23 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

And I've sat here when this key- 
Shot me like a battery, 
Just 'cause Brownie wired to say 
That "That box o' fruit, or flowers, 
That 'I'd' sent her came O K, — 
To beguile the weaiy hours 
Till we met again!" — Then break 
Short off — for the Roachdale cuss 
Callin' her, and onto us. 
'Course he^ d sent 'em — no mistake! 
Lord^ she kej^t that man awake I 
Yet he kept her fooled : His cheek 
And pure goody-goody gall 
Hid from hei' — if not from all — 
A quite vivid '-'•yellow streak.^^ — 
Awful' jealous, don't you see? — 
Felt he had a right to be, 
Maybe, bein' engaged. — An^ they 
Were engaged— that's straight. — "G A!"*- 
Well : MacClintock when he come 
Down from York to take this job, 
And stopped off at Pilot Knob 



♦Telegraphers' abbreviation for "'Go ahead. 
24 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

For '•Hnstructions^^' there was some 

Indications of unrest 

At Roachdale right from the start,— 

"Roachy" wasn't aw fur smart, 

Maybe, but he done his best — 

With such brains as he possessed, — 

Anyway he made one play 

That was brilliant — of its kind — 

And 7naintained it — From the day 

That MacClintock took my key 

And I left on No. 3, 

"Roachy" opened up on Mac 

And just loved him! — purred and v/hined 

'Cross the wires how tickled he 

Was to hear that Mac was back, 

And how glad the girls would be 

And the young-folks everywhere, 

As he'd reason to believe, — 

And how, even then^ they were 

'Shapin' things at old, Roachdale 

For a blow-out, Christmas-eve, 

That would turn all others pale! — 

First a Christmas-Tree^ at old 



25 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

Armory Hall, and then the floor 
Cleared, and — " 

"Come in out the cold!" 
Breaks MacClintock — "Don't I know?- 
Dancin', say, from ten till four — 
Maybe daylight 'fore we go! — 
With Ben Custer's Band to pour 
Music out in swirlin' rills 
And back-tides o' waltz-quadrilles 
Level with the window-sills! — 
Roachy, you're a bird I — But, say, — 
How am I to get away 
From the office here?" 

Well, then 
"Roachy" wires him back again: — 
"That's O K,— I call a man 
Up from Dunkirk; got it all 
Fixed. — So Christmas-eve, you can 
Collar the seven-thirty train 
For Roachdale — the same that he 
Comes on. — Leave your office-key 
In the door: he'll do the rest." 
Then "old Roachy" rattled through 
A long list of who'd be there,— 
26 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

Boys and girls that Mac knew best — 
One name, though, that had no bare 
Little mention anywhere! 
Then he shut off, as he said, 

For his supper About ten 

Minutes Mac was called agaiii — 
With a click that flushed him red 
As the signal-flag — and then 
Came like music in the air — 
"Yes, and Brownie will be there!" 



Folks tell me, that Christmas-Tree, 
Dance and whole blame jamboree, 
Looked like it was goin' to be 
A blood- curdlin' tragedy. 
People 'long the roads, you know — 
Well, they've had experience 
With all sorts of accidents, 
And they've learnt so77ie things, — and so 
When an accident or wreck 
Happens, they know some ?na7t's '•^ break' 
Is responsible, and hence — 
Well — they want to break his neck! 
27 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

So it happened, Christmas-eve, 

At Roachdale^ — MacClintock there 

Cocked back in the barber-chair 

At eight-forty, and no train 

Down yet from the Knob, and it 

Due at eight-ten sharp. The strain 

Was a-showin' quite a bit 

On the general crowd ; and when 

Purty soon the rumor spread — 

Wreck had probably occurred — 

Someone said somebody said 

That he'd heard somebody say, 

'-''Operator at the Glen 

Was to blame for the delay — 

Fact is, he had run away 

From his ofKce — Even then 

Was in Roachdale — there to be 

Present at the Christmas-Tree 

And the 'shindig' afterward, 

Wreck or no wreck!" . . . Mac sat up. 

Whiter than the shavin'-cup. . .. . 

Back of his face in the glass 

He stared into he could see 



28 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

A big crowd there — and, alas! 

Not in all that threatening throng 

One friend's face of sympathy — 

One friend knowin' right from wrong! 

He got on his feet — erect — 

Nervy ; — faced the crowd, and then 

Said: "/am MacClintock from 

The Glen-office, and I've come 

To your Christmas festival 

By request of one that all 

Of you honor, gentlemen, — 

Your most trusted citizen — 

Your own operator here 

At the station-office — where 

He'll acquit 7ne of neglect. 

And will make it plain and clear 

Who the sub. is he sent there 

To my office at the Glen — 

Or, if not one there, — who then 

Is indeed the criminal? . . . 

I am going now to call 

On him. — Join me, gentlemen. — 



29 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

I insist you come with me." 
Well, a sense of some respect 
Caught 'em, — and they followed, all, 
Silently, though sullenly. 



Fortunately, half a square 
Brought 'em to the station and 
The crowd there that packed the small 
Waiting-room on every hand. 
With a kind o' general stand 
Round the half-door window through 
Which "old Roachy," in full view. 
Sat there, smilin' in a sick 
Sort o' way, yet gloryin', too, 
In the work he had to do. 
Mac worked closer, breathin' quick 
At the muttered talk of some 
Of the toughest of the crowd ; 
Till, above the growl and hum 
Of the ominou-s voices, he 
Heard the click of "Roachy's" key, — 
And his heart beat 'most out 'loud 
As he heard him wirin' : — "Yes, 
30 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

Trouble down at Glen^ I guess. 
Glen's fool-operator here — 
What's-his-name ? — M acClintock. — Fear 
Mob will hang him. — -Mob knows he 
Left his office. — And no doubt 
Wreck there on account of it. 
People worked-up here — and shout 
Now and then to 'Take him out!' — 
'Hang him'! — and so forth." . . . Mac lit 
Through the half-door window at 
'Roachy's' table like a cat: — 
He was white^ but ^Roachy^s' face 
Made a brunette out o' Ms\ 
Mac had pinned him in his chair 
Helpless — and a message there 
Clickin' back from Pilot Knob. — 
"Tell these people, word for word,'* 
Mac says, "what this message is! — - 
Tell ^ an. — Hear me P'^ 'Roachy' heard 
And obeyed: — " 'We sized your job 
On MacClintock. — Knob here sent 
A sub. there. — And all O K 
At Glen office. — Tie-up here — 
One hour's wait — all fault of mine. 
31 



CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES 

''Hang MacClintock,' did you say? 
'•Hang MacClintock ?' — Certainly, — 
Hang him on the Christmas-Tree, 
With a label on for tne^ — 
I'll be there on Number Nine.' " 



32 



LET SOMETHING GOOD BE SAID 

When over the fair fame of friend or foe 

The shadow of disgrace shall fall ; instead 
Of words of blame, or proof of thus and so, 
Let something good be said. 

Forget not that no fellow-being yet 

May fall so low but love may lift his head : 
Even the cheek of shame with tears is wet. 
If something good be said. 

No generous heart may vainly turn aside 
In ways of sympathy ; no soul so dead 
But may awaken strong and glorified, 
If something good be said. 

And so I charge ye, by the thorny crown, 

And by the cross on which the Savior bled, 
And by your own souls' hope of fair renown, 
Let something good be said ! 
3 33 



MY DANCIN'-DAYS IS OVER 

What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'at makes me ketch 

my breath 
And ripples up my backbone tel I'm tickled most 
to death ? — 
Kindo' like that sweet-sick feelin', in the long 

sweep of a swing, 
The first you ever swung in, with yer first sweet- 
heart, i jing! — 
Yer first picnic-— yer first ice-cream — ^yer first o' 
everything 
'At happened 'fore yer dancin'-days wuz over ! 

I never understood it — and I s'pose I never can, — 
But right in town here, yisterd'y, I heerd a pore 
blind-man 
A-fiddlin' old "Gray Eagle"— ^;^^-sir! I jes 
stopped my load 
O'hay and listened at him — yes, and watched the 
w^ay he "bow'd," — 
34 



MY DANCIN -DAYS IS OVER 

And back I went, plum forty year', with boys 
and girls I knowed 
And loved, long 'fore my dancin'-days wuz 
over! — 



At high noon in yer city, — with yer blame Mag- 
netic-Cars 
A-hummin' and a-screetchin' past — and bands and 
G. A. R.'s 
A-marchin' — and fire-ingines. — All the noise, 

the whole street through, 
Wuz lost on me! — I only heerd a whipperwill 

er two, 
It 'peared-like, kindo' callin' 'crostthe darkness 
and the dew. 
Them nights afore my dancin'-days wuz over. 



T'uz Chused'y-night at Wetherell's, er We'nsd'y- 

night at Strawn's, 
Er Fourth-o'-July-night at uther Tomps's house 

er John's! — 

35 



MY DANCIN -DAYS IS OVER 

With old Lew Church from Sugar Crick, with 

that old fiddle he 
Had sawed clean through the Army, from At- 

lanty to the sea — 
And yit he'd fetched her home ag'in, so's he 

could play fer me 
Onc't more afore my dancin'-days wuz over! 



The woods 'at's all ben cut away wuz growin' 

same as then ; 
The youngsters all wuz boys ag'in 'at's now all 
oldish men ; 
And all the girls 'at then wuz girls — I saw 'em, 

one and all, 
As ^lain as then — the middle-sized, the short- 

and-fat, and tall — 
And, 'peared-like, I danced "Tucker" fer 'em 
up and down the wall 
Jes like afore my dancin'-days wuz over! 



36 



MY DANCIN -DAYS IS OVER 

Yer J)0-leece they can holler "Say! you, Uncle! 

drive ahead ! — 
You can't use all the right-o'-way ! " — fer that wuz 
what they said! — 
But, jes the same, — in spite of all 'at you call 

"interprise 
And prog-gress of yoz^-iolks Today," we're all 

of fom bly-ties — 
We're all got feelin's fittin' fer the tears 'at's in 
our eyes 
Er the smiles afore our dancin'-days is over. 



37 



HENRY W. GRADY 



ATLANTA, DEC. 23, I 



True-hearted friend of all true friendliness ! — 
Brother of all true brotherhoods! — Thy hand 
And its late pressure now we understand 

Most fully, as it falls thus gestureless 

And Silence lulls thee into sweet excess 

Of sleep. Sleep thou content! — Thy loved 

Southland 
Is swept with tears, as rain in sunshine ; and 

Through all the frozen North our eyes confess 
Like sorrow — seeing still the princely sign 

Set on thy lifted brow, and the rapt light 
Of the dark, tender, melancholy eyes — 
Thrilled with the music of those lips of thine, 

And yet the fire thereof that lights the night 
With the white splendor of thy prophecies. 

38 



*'0 LIFE! O BEYOND!" 

Strange — strange, O mortal Life, 
The perverse gifts that came to me from you ! 
From childhood I have v^anted all good things : 
You gave me few. 

You gave me faith in One 

Divine — above your own imperious might, 

mortal Life, while I but wanted you 

And your delight. 

1 wanted dancing feet, 

And flowery, grassy paths by laughing streams ; 
You gave me loitering steps, and eyes all blurred 
With tears and dreams. 

I wanted love, — and, lo ! 
As though in mockery, you gave me loss. 
O'erburdened sore, I wanted rest: you gave 
The heavier cross. 
39 



'*o life! o beyond!'* 

I wanted one poor hut 
For mine own home, to creep away into: 
You gave me only lonelier desert lands 
To journey through. 

Now, at the last vast verge 
Of barren age, I stumble, reel, and fling 
Me down, with strength all spent and heart athirst 
And famishing. 

Yea, now, Life, deal me death, — 

Your worst — your vaunted worst ! . . . Across 

my breast 
With numb and fumbling hands I gird me for 
The best. 



40 



''HOME AG'IN" 



HIS LOVE OF HOME 



'•As love of native land^^^ the old Tnan said, 
'■Er stars and stripes a-wavin' overhead, 
Er nearest kith-and-kin, er daily bread, 
A Hoosier's love is fer the old homestead,^ 



HOME AG'IN' 



I'm a-feelin' ruther sad, 
Fer a father proud and glad 
As / am — my only child 
Home, and all so rickonciled! 
Feel so strange-like, and don't know 
What the mischief ails me so ! 
'Stid o' bad, I ort to be 
Feelin' good pertickerly — 
Yes, and extry thankful, too, 
'Cause my nearest kith and kin , 
My Elviry's schoolin' 's through, 
And F got her home ag'in — 
Home ag'in with me ! 



Same as ef her mother'd been 
Livin', I have done my best 
By the girl, and watchfulest; 
43 



"home AG in 

Nussed her — keerful' as I could — 
From a baby, day and night, — 
Drawin' on the neighberhood 
And the women-folks as light 
As needsessity 'u'd 'low — 
'Cept in "teethin'," onc't, and fight 
Through black-measles. Don't know now 
How we ever saved the child ! 
Doc he'd give her up, and said, 
As I stood there by the bed 
Sort o' foolin' with her hair 
On the hot, wet pillar there, 
"Wuz no use!" — And at them-air 
Very words she waked and smiled — 
Yes, and knozued me. And that's where 
I broke down, and simply jes 
Bellered like a boy — I guess! — 
Women claimed I did, but I 
Alius belt I didn't cry 
But wuz laughin', — and I wuz^ — 
Men don't cry like women does ! 
Well, right then and there I felt 
'T 'uz her mother's doin's, and, 
Jes like to myse'f, I knelt 
44 



"home ag'in 

Whisperin,' "I understand." . . . 
So I've raised her, you might say, 
Stric'ly in the narrer way 
'At her mother walked therein — 
Not so quite religiously, 
Yit still strivin'-like to do 
Ever'thing a father could 
Do he knowed the tnother would 
Ef she'd lived — And now all's through 
And I' got .her home ag'in — 
Home ag' in with me ! 



And I' been so lonesome, too. 
Here o' late, especially, — 
"Old Aunt Abigail," you know, 
Ain't no company ; — and so 
Jes the hired hand, you see — 
Jonas — like a relative 
More — sence he come here to live 
With us, nigh ten year' ago. 
Still he don't count much, you know, 

45 



"HOME AG'IN" 

In the way o' company — 
Lonesome, 'peared-like, 'most as me! 
So, as /say, I' been so 
Special lonesome-like and blue, 
With Elviry, like she's been, 
'Way so much, last two or three 
Year' — But now she's home ag'in — 
Home ag'in with me ! 



Driv in fer her yisterday, 
Me and Jonas — gay and spry, — 
We jes cut up, all the way! — 
Yes, and sung! — tell, blame it! I 
Keyed my voice up 'bout as high 
As when — days 'at I wuz young — 
'Buckwheat-notes" wuz all they sung. 
Jonas bantered me, and 'greed 
To sing one 'at town- folks sing 
Down at Split Stump 'er High-Low — 
Some new "ballet," said, 'at he'd 
Learnt — about "The Grapevine Swing." 
And when he quit, /begun 

46 



''HOME AG IN ' 

To chune up my voice and run 
Through the what's-called "scales" and 

"do- 
Sol-me-fa's" I ust to know — 
Then let loose old iavortte one, 
"Hunters o' Kentucky V My I 
Tel I thought the boy would diet 
And we both laughed — Yes, and still 
Heerd more laughin' , top the hill ; 
Fer we'd missed Elviry's train, 
And she'd lit out 'crosst the fields, — 
Dewdrops dancin' at her heels, 
And cut up old Smoots's lane 
So's to meet us. And there in 
Shadder o' the chinkypin. 
With a danglin' dogwood-bough 
Bloomin' 'bove her — See her now! — 
Sunshine sort o' flickerin' down 
And a kind o' laughin' all 
Round her new red parasol, 
Tryin' to git at her! — well — like 
/jumped out and showed 'em how — 
Yes, and jes the place to strike 
That-air mouth o' hern — as sweet 
47 



"home ag'in" 

As the blossoms breshed her brow 
Er sweet-williams round her feet — 
White and blushy, too, as she 

"Howdied" up to Jonas, and 
Jieuked her head, and waved her hand. 

*'Hey!" says I, as she bounced in 
The spring-wagon, reachin' back 
To give me a lift, "whoop-ee!" 
I-says-ee, "you're home ag'in — 
Home ag'in with me!" 



Lord! how wild she wuz, and glad, 
Gittin' home! — and things she had 
To inquire about, and talk — 
Plowin', plantin', and the stock — 
News o' neighberhood ; and how 
Wuz the Deem-girls doin' now, 
Sence that-air young chicken-hawk 
They was "tamin' " soared away 
With their settin'-hen, one day? — 
(Said she'd got Mame's postal-card 
'Bout it, very day 'at she 

48 



"HOME AG IN 

Started home from Bethany.) 
How wuz produce — eggs, and lard?— 
Er wuz stores still claimin' "hard 
Times," as usual? And, says she. 
Troubled-like, "How's Deedie — say? 
Sence pore child e-loped away 
And got back, and goin' to 'ply 
Fer school-license by and by-- 
And where' s 'Lijy workin' at? 
And how's 'Aunt' and 'Uncle Jake' ? 
How wuz 'Old Maje' — and the cat? 
And wuz Marthy's baby fat 
As his 'Humpty-Dumpty' ma? — 
Sweetest thing she ever saw! — 
Must run 'crosst and see her, too. 
Soon as she turned in and got 
Supper fer us — smokin'-hot — 
And the 'dishes' all wuz through. — " 
Sich a supper! Wy, I set 
There and et, and et, and et! — 
Jes et on, tel Jonas he 
Pushed his chair back, laughed, and says, 
"I could walk his log!" and we 
All laughed then, tel 'Viry she 
4 49 



"HOME AG IN 

Lit the lamp — and I give in! — 
Riz and kissed her: "Heaven bless 
You!" says I — "you're home ag'in— 
Same old dimple in your chin, 
Same vs^hite apern," I-says-ee, 
'Same sweet girl, and good to see 
As your mother ust to be, — 
And I' got you home ag'in — 
Home ag'in with me!" 



I turns then to go on by her 
Through the door — and see her eyes 
Both wuz swimmin', and she tries 
To say somepin' — can't — and so 
Grabs and hugs and lets me go. 
Noticed Aunty'd made a fire 
In the settin'-room and gone 
Back where her p' serves wuz on 
B'ilin' in the kitchen. I 
Went out on the porch and set, 
Thinkin'-like. And by and by 
Heerd Elviry, soft and low, 

50 



"HOME AG IN 

At the organ, kind o' go 
A mi-anderin' up and down 
With her fingers 'mongst the keys — 
•'Vacant Chair" and "Old Camp-Groun' 
Dusk was moist-like, with a breeze 
Lazin' round the locus'-trees — 
Heerd the hosses champin', and 
Jonas feedin', and the hogs — 
Yes, and katydids and frogs — 
And a tree-toad, som'er's. Heerd 
Also whipperwills. — My land I — 
All so mournful ever'where — 
Them out here, and her in there, — 
'Most like 'tendin' services! 
Anyxuay, I must 'a' jes 
Kind o' drapped asleep, I guess; 
'Cause when Jonas must 'a' passed 
Me, a-comin' in, I knowed 
Nothin' of it — yit it seemed 
Sort o' like I kind o' dreamed 
'Bout him, too, a-slippin' in, 
And a-watchin' back to see 
Ef I wuz asleep, and then 
Passin' in where 'Viry wuz ; 

51 



**HOME Ag'in'' 

And where I declare it does 
'Pear to me I heerd him say, 
Wild and glad and whisperin' — 
'Peared-like heerd him say, says-ee, 
*'Ah! I'got you home ag'in — 
Home ag'in with me!" 



EMERSON 

CONCORD, APRIL 2^, iSSz 

What shall we say? In quietude, 

Within his home, in dreams unguessed. 
He lies ; the grief a nation would 

Evince must be repressed. 

Nor meet Is it the loud acclaim 

His countrymen would raise — that he 
Has left the riches of his fame 

The whole world's legacy. 

Then, prayerful, let us pause until 
We find, as grateful spirits can, 
The way most worthy to fulfill 

The tribute due the man. 

Think what were best in his regard 

Who voyaged life in such a cause: 
Our simplest faith were best reward — 
Our silence, best applause. 

53 



WHITTIER— AT NEWBURYPORT 

SEPTEMBER 7, 1 892 

Hail to thee, with all good cheer! 
Though men say thou liest here 

Dead, 
And mourn, all uncomforted. 

By thy faith refining mine. 

Life still lights those eyes of thine, 

Clear 
As the Autumn atmosphere. 

Ever still thy smile appears 
As the rainbow of thy tears 
Bent 
O'er thy love's vast firmament. 

Thou endurest — shalt endure, 
Purely, as thy song is pure. 
Hear 
Thus my hail : Good cheer ! good cheer ! 
54 



THE ONWARD TRAIL 

MYRON W. REED, DENVER, JAN. 3O, 1 899 

Just as of old, — with fearless foot 
And placid face and resolute, 
He takes the faint, mysterious trail 
That leads beyond our earthly hail. 

We would cry, as in last farewell, 
But that his hand waves, and a spell 
Is laid upon our tongues : and thus 
He takes unworded leave of us. 

And it is fitting: — As he fared 
Here with us, so is he prepared 
For any fortuning the night 
May hold for him beyond our sight. 

The moon and stars they still attend 
His wandering footsteps to the end, — 
He did not question, nor will we, 
Their guidance and security. 

55 



THE ONWARD TRAIL 

So, never parting word nor cry:— 
We feel, with him, that by and by 
Our onward trails will meet and then 
Merge and be ever one again. 



56 



LINCOLN 

A PEACEFUL LIFE ; — ^just toil and rest — 

All his desire ; — 
To read the books he liked the best 

Beside the cabin fire — 
God's word and man's ; — to peer sometimes 

Above the page, in smouldering gleams, 
And catch, like far heroic rhymes, 

The onm arch of his dreams. 

A peaceful life ; — to hear the low 

Of pastured herds, 
Or woodman's ax that, blow on blow. 

Fell sweet as rhythmic words. 
And yet there stirred within his breast 

A fateful pulse that, like a roll 
Of drums, made high above his rest 

A tumult in his soul. 

57 



LINCOLN 

A peaceful life ! . . . , They haled him even 

As One was haled 
Whose open palms were nailed toward Heaven 

When prayers nor aught availed. 
And, lo, he paid the selfsame price 

To lull a nation's awful strife 
And will us, through the sacrifice 

Of self, his peaceful life. 



58 



YOUR HEIGHT IS OURS 

TO RICHARD HENRY STODDARD, AT THE STODDARD 

BANQUET BY THE AUTHORS' CLUB, 

NEW YORK, MARCH 25, 1 897 

O PRINCELY poet! — kingly heir 

Of gifts divinely sent, — 
Your own ! — nor envy anywhere, 

Nor voice of discontent. 

Though, of ourselves, all poor are we, 
And frail and weak of wing, 

Your height is ours — your ecstasy — 
Your glory, when you sing. 

Most favored of the gods, and great 

In gifts beyond our store, 
We covet not your rich estate, 

But prize our own the more. — 
59 



YOUU HEIGHT IS OURS 

The gods give as but gods may do — 
We count otir riches thus, — 

They gave their richest gifts to you, 
And then gave you to us. 



60 



HYMN EXULTANT 

FOR EASTER 

Voice of Mankind, sing over land and sea — 

Sing, in this glorious morn! 
The long, long night is gone from Calvary — 

The cross, the thong and thorn; 
The sealed tomb yields up its saintly guest, 
No longer to be burdened and oppressed. 

Heart of Mankind, thrill answer to His own, 

So human, yet divine! 
For earthly love He left His heavenly throne — 

For love like thine and mine — 
For love of us, as one might kiss a bride, 
His lifted lips touched death's, all satisfied. 

Soul of Mankind, He wakes — He lives once more ! 

O soul, with heart and voice 
Sing ! sing ! — the stone rolls chorus from the door — 

Our Lord stands forth. — Rejoice! 
Rejoice O garden-land of song and flowers; 
Our King returns to us, forever ours ! 
6i 



A SONG OF THE ROAD 

O I WILL walk with you, my lad, whichever way 

you fare, 
You'll have me, too, the side o' you, with heart 

as light as air; 
No care for where the road you take's a-leadin' — 

— anywhere, — 
It can but be a joyful jant the whilst j^t^^^ journey 

there. 
The road you take's the path o' love, an' that's 

the bridth o' two — 
And I will walk with you, my lad — O I will walk 

with you. 

Ho! I will walk with you, my lad, 

Be weather black or blue 
Or roadsides frost or dew, my lad — 

O I will walk with you. 
63 



A SONG OF THE ROAD 

Aye, glad, my lad, I'll walk with you, whatever 

winds may blow, 
Or summer blossoms stay our steps, or blinding 

drifts of snow ; 
The way that you set face and foot's the way that 

I will go. 
And brave I'll be, abreast o' you, the Saints and 

Angels know! 
With loyal hand in loyal hand, and one heart 

made o' two. 
Through summer's gold, or winter's cold, it's I 

will walk with you. 

Sure, I will walk with you, my lad, 

As love ordains me to, — 
To Heaven's door, and through, my lad, 

O I will walk with you. 



ex 



RED RIDING HOOD 

Sweet little myth of the nursery story — 
Earliest love of mine infantile breast, 
Be something tangible, bloom in thy glory 
Into existence, as thou art addressed! 
Hasten! appear to me, guileless and good — 
Thou art so dear to me. Red Riding Hood! 

Azure-blue eyes, in a marvel of wonder. 
Over the dawn of a blush breaking out ; 
Sensitive nose, with a little smile under 
Trying to hide in a blossoming pout — 
Couldn't be serious, try as you would, 
Little mysterious Red Riding Hood ! 

Hah! little girl, it is desolate, lonely. 
Out in this gloomy old forest of Life! — 
Here are not pansies and buttercups only — 
Brambles and briers as keen as a knife ; 
And a Heart, ravenous, prowls in the wood 
For the meal have he must,-— Red Riding Hood ! 



THE MOTHER SAINTED 

And yet she does not stir, — 
Such silence weighs on her 

We hear the drip 
Of teardrops as we press 
Our kisses answerless 

On brow and lip. . 

Not even the yearning touch 
Of lips she loved so much 

She made their breath 
One with her own, will she 
Give answer to and be 

Wooed back from death. 

And though he kneel and plead 
. Who was her greatest need, 
And on her cheek 
Lay the soft baby-face 
In its old resting-place, 
She will not speak. 

65 



THE CHRIST 

* 'Father!" (so The Word) he cried,- 
"Son of Thine, and yet denied; 
By my brothers dragged and tried, 
Scoffed and scourged, and crucified, 
With a thief on either side — 
Brothers mine, alike belied, — 
Arms of mercy open wide. 
Father! Father!" So he died. 



66 



TO "UNCLE REMUS" 

We love your dear old face and voice — 
We're all Miss Sally's Little Boys, 

Climbin' your knee. 

In ecstasy, 
Rejoicin' in your Creeturs' joys 

And trickery. 

The Lord who made the day and night, 
He made the Black man and the White ; 

So, in like view. 

We hold it true 
That He haint got no favor//^ — 

Onless it's you. 



67 



TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON— 

on his first visit to america 

Robert Louis Stevenson! 
Blue the lift and braw the dawn 
O' ye'r comin' here amang 
Strangers wha hae luved ye lang! 
Strangers tae ye we maun be, 
Yet tae us ye're kenned a wee 
By the writin's ye hae done, ' 
Robert Louis Stevenson. 

Syne ye've pit ye'r pen tae sic' 
Tales it stabbt us tae the quick — 
Whiles o' tropic isles an' seas 
An' o' gowden treesuries — 
Tales o' deid men's banes ; an' tales 
Swete as sangs o' nightingales 
When the nune o' mirk's begun — 
Robert Louis Stevenson. 
66 



TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

Sae we hail thee ! nane the less 
For the "burr" that ye caress 
Wi' ye'r denty tongue o' Scots, 
Makin' words forget-me-nots 
O' ye'r bonnie braes that were 
Sung o' Burns the Poemer — 
And that later lavrock, one 
Robert Louis Stevenson. 



69 



ON A YOUTHFUL PORTRAIT OF 
STEVENSON 

A FACE of youth mature ; a mouth of tender, 

Sad, human sympathy, yet something stoic 
In clasp of lip ; wide eyes of calmest splendor, 

And brow serenely ample and heroic: — 
The features — all — lit with a soul ideal .... 

O visionary boy ! what were you seeing. 
What hearing, as you stood thus midst the real 

Ere yet one master-work of yours had being? 

Is it a foolish fancy that we humor — 

Investing daringly with life and spirit 
This youthful portrait of you ere one rumor 

Of your great future spoke that men might hear 
it?— 
Is it a fancy, or your first of glories. 

That you were listening, and the camera drew 
you 
Hearing the voices of your untold stories 
And all your lovely poems calling to you ? 
70 



THE TRAVELING MAN 



Could I pour out the nectar the gods only can, 

I would fill up my glass to the brhn 
And drink the success of the Traveling Man, 

And the house represented by him ; 
And could I but tincture the glorious draught 

With his smiles, as I drank to him then, 
And the jokes he has told and the laughs he has 
laughed, 

I would fill up the goblet again — 

And drink to the sweetheart who gave him good- 
bye 

With a tenderness thrilling him this 
Very hour, as he thinks of the tear in her eye 

That salted the sweet of her kiss ; 
To her truest of hearts and her fairest of hands 

I would drink, with all serious prayers. 
Since the heart she must trust is a Traveling Man's, 

And as warm as the ulster he wears. 
71 



THE TRAVELING MAN 
II 

I would drink to the wife, with the babe on her 
knee, 

Who awaits his returning in vain — 
Who breaks his brave letters so tremulously 

And reads them again and again ! 
And I'd drink to the feeble old mother who sits 

At the warm fireside of her son 
And murmurs and weeps o'er the stocking she 
knits, 

As she thinks of the wandering one. 

I would drink a long life and a health to the friends 

Who have met him with smiles and with cheer — 
To the generous hand that the landlord extends 

To the wayfarer journeying here: 
And I pledge, when he turns from this earthly 
abode 

And pays the last fare that he can, 
Mine Host of the Inn at the End of the Road 

Will welcome the Traveling Man ! 



72 



FROM DELPHI TO CAMDEN 

I 

From Delphi to Camden— little Hoosier towns, — - 
But here were classic meadows, blooming dales 

and downs ; 
And here were grassy pastures, dewy as the leas 
Trampled over by the trains of royal pageantries ! 

And here the winding highway loitered through 
the shade 

Of the hazel-covert, where, in ambuscade. 

Loomed the larch and linden, and the greenwood- 
tree 

Under which bold Robin Hood loud hallooed to 
me! 

Here the stir and riot of the busy day 
Dwindled to the quiet of the breath of May ; 
73 



FROM DELPHI TO CAMDEN 

Gurgling brooks, and ridges lily-marged and 

spanned 
By the rustic bridges found in Wonderland ! 



II 



From Delphi to Camden, — from Camden back 

again! — 
And now the night was on us, and the lightning 

and the rain ; 
And still the way was wondrous with the flash of 

hill and plain, — 
The stars like printed asterisks — the moon a murky 

stain ! 



And I thought of tragic idyl, and of flight and hot 

pursuit ! 
And the jingle of the bridle, and cuirass, and spur 

on boot. 
As our horses' hooves struck showers from the 

flinty bowlders set 
In freshet-ways of writhing reed and drowning 

violet. 

74 



FROM DELPHI TO CAMDEN 

And we passed beleaguered castles, with their 

battlements a-frown; 
Where a tree fell in the forest was a turret toppled 

down ; 
While my master and commander — the brave 

knight I galloped with 
On this reckless road to ruin or to fame was— 

Dr. Smith! 



75 



tMe ballade Of the coming rain 

When the morning swoons in its highest heat, 

And the sunshine dims, and no dark shade 
Streaks the dust of the dazzling street, 

And the long straw splits in the lemonade; 

When the circus lags in a sad parade. 
And the drum throbs dull as a pulse of pain, 

And the breezeless flags hang limp and frayed — 
O then is the time to look for rain. 

When the man on the watering cart bumps by. 

Trilling the air of an old fife-tune, 
With a dull, soiled smile, and one shut eye, 

Lost in a dream of the afternoon ; 

When the awning sags like a lank balloon. 
And a thick sweat stands on the window-pane, 

And a five-cent fan is a priceless boon — 
O then is the time to look for rain. 
76 



THE BALLADE OF THE COMING RAIN 

When the goldfish tank is a grimy gray, 

And the dummy stands at the clothing store 
With a cap pulled on in a rakish way, 

And a rubber-coat with the hind before ; 

When the man in the barber chair flops o'er 
And the chin he wags has a telltale stain. 

And the bootblack lurks at the open door — 
O then is the time to look for rain. 



77 



TO THE JUDGE 

A VOICE FROM THE INTERIOR OF OLD HOOP-POLE 
TOWNSHIP 

Friend of my earliest youth, 

Can't you arrange to come down 
And visit a fellow out here in the woods — 

Out of the dust of the town? 
Can't you forget you're a Judge 

And put by your dolorous frown 
And tan your wan face in the smile of a friend — 

Can't you arrange to come down? 

Can't you forget for a while 

The arguments prosy and drear, — 
To lean at full-length in indefinite rest 

In the lap of the greenery here ? 

78 



TO THE JUDGE 

Z^an't you kick over "the Bench,'* 
And "husk" yourself out of your gown 

Fo dangle your legs where the fishing is good — 
Can't you arrange to come down? 

Bah ! for your office of State ! 

And bah ! for its technical lore ! 
What does our President, high in his chair, 

But wish himself low as before ! 
Pick between peasant and king, — 

Poke your bald head through a crown 
Dr shadow it here with the laurels of Spring ! — 

Can't you arrange to come down? 

•'Judge it" out here^ if you will, — 

The birds are in session by dawn ; 
Yow can draw, not complaints^ but a sketch of the 
hill 

And a breath that your betters have drawn ; 
Y'ou can open your heart, like a case, 

To a jury of kine, white and brown, 
And their verdict of "Moo" will just satisfy you! — 

Can't you arrange to come down ? 

79 



TO THE JUDGE 

Can't you arrange it, old Pard? — 

Pigeonhole Blackstone and Kent! — 
Here we have "Breitmann," and Ward, 

Twain, Burdette, Nye, and content! 
Can't you forget you're a Judge 

And put by your dolorous frown 
And tan your wan face in the smile of a friend- 

Can't you arrange to come down? 



80 



A FEEL IN THE CHRIS'MAS-AIR 

They's a kind o' feel in the air, to me, 

When the Chris'mas-times sets in. 
That's about as much of a mystery 

As ever I've run ag'in ! — 
Fer instunce, now, v^hilse I gain in weight 

And gineral health, I svs^ear 
They's a goneness somers I can't quite state — 

A kind o' feel in the air. 

They's a feel in the Chris'mas-air goes right 

To the spot where a man lives at! — 
It gives a feller a' appetite — 

They ain't no doubt about that! — 
And yit they's so77tefin' — I don't know what — 

That follers me, here and there. 
And ha'nts and worries and spares me not — 

A kind o' feel in the air! 



A FEEL IN THE CHRIS'mAS-AIR 

They's 2ifeel, as I say, in the air that's jest 

As blame-don sad as sweet! — 
In the same ra-sho as I feel the best 

And am spryest on my feet, 
They's alius a kind o' sort of a' ache 

That I can't lo-cate no-where ; — 
But it comes with Chris^mas^ and no mistake !- 

A kind o' feel in the air. 

Is it the racket the childern raise ? — 

W'y, not — God bless 'em! — no I — 
Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze — 

Like my own wuz, long ago? — 
Is it the bleat o' the whistle and beat . 

O' the little toy-drum and blare 
O' the horn? — No! no I — it is jest the sweet — 

The sad-sweet feel in the air. 



^3 



ON A FLY-LEAF 

IN JOHN BOYLE O'rEILLY's POEMS 

Singers there are of courtly themes — 

Drapers in verse — who would dress their rhymes 
In robes of ermine ; and singers of dreams 

Of gods high-throned in the classic times ; 
Singers of nymphs, in their dim retreats, 

Satyrs, with scepter and diadem ; 
But the singer who sings as a man's heart beats 

Well may blush for the rest of them. 

I like the thrill of such poems as these, — 

All spirit and fervor of splendid fact — 
Pulse, and muscle, and arteries 

Of living, heroic thought and act! — 
Where every line is a vein of red 

And rapturous blood all unconfined 
As it leaps from a heart that has joyed and bled 

With the rights and the wrongs of all mankind. 

83 



THE SERMON OF THE ROSE 

Willful we are, in our infirmity 

Of childish questioning and discontent. 

Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant — 

Thou Truth the clearer for thy mystery ! 

Make us to meet what is or is to be 

With fervid welcome, knowing it is sent 

To serve us in some way full excellent, 

Though we discern it all belatedly. 

The rose buds, and the rose blooms, and the rose 

Bows in the dews, and in its fulness, lo, 

Is in the lover's hand, — then on the breast 

Of her he loves, — and there dies. — And who 

knows 
What fate of all a rose may undergo 
Is fairest, dearest, sweetest, loveliest? 

Nay, we are children : we will not mature. 
A blessed gift must seem a theft ; and tears 
Must storm our eyes when but a joy appears 
In drear disguise of sorrow ; and how poor 
We seem when we are richest, — most secure 

84 



THE SERMON OF THE ROSE 

Against all poverty the lifelong years 

We yet must waste in childish doubts and fears 

That, in despite of reason, still endure ! 

Alas ! the sermon of the rose we will 

Not wisely ponder ; nor the sobs of grief 

Lulled into sighs of rapture, nor the cry 

Of fierce defiance that again is still. 

Be patient — patient with our frail belief, 

And stay it yet a little ere we die. 

O opulent life of ours, though dispossessed 
Of treasure after treasure ! Youth most fair 
Went first, but left its priceless coil of hair — 
Moaned over, sleepless nights, kissed and caressed 
Through drip and blur of tears the tenderest. 
And next went Love — the ripe rose glowing there. 
Her very sister! . . . //is here, but where 
Is she^ of all the world the first and best? 
And yet how sweet the sweet earth after rain — 
How sweet the sunlight on the garden-wall 
Across the roses — and how sweetly flows 
The limpid yodel of the brook again ! 
And yet — and yet how sweeter, after all. 
The smoldering sweetness of a dead red rose. 

85 



OSCAR C. McCULLOCH 

INDIANAPOLIS, DEC. 12, 1 89 1 

What would best please our friend, in token of 
The sense of our great loss? — Our sighs and 

tears ? 
Nay, these he fought against through all his 
years, 
Heroically voicing, high above 
Grief's ceaseless minor, moaning like a dove. 
The paean triumphant that the soldier hears. 
Scaling the walls of death, midst shouts and 
cheers. 
The old flag laughing in his eyes' last love. 

Nay, then, to pleasure him were it not meet 
To yield him bravely, as his fate arrives ? — 

Drape him in radiant roses, head and feet. 
And be partakers, while his work survives, 

Of his fair fame, — paying the tribute sweet 
To all humanity — our nobler lives. 
86 



THE LOVING CUP 

Tranced in the glamor of a dream 

Where banquet-lights and fancies gleam 

And ripest wit and wine abound, 

And pledges hale go round and round, — 

Lo, dazzled with enchanted rays — 

As in the golden olden days 

Sir Galahad — my eyes swim up 

To greet your splendor, Loving Cup ! 

What is the secret of your art. 
Linking together hand and heart 
Your m3^riad votaries who do 
Themselves most honor honoring you ? 
What gracious service have you done 
To win the name that you have won ? — 
Kissing it baclrirom tuneful lips 
That sing your praise between the sips ! 

Your spicy breath, O Loving Cup, 
That, like an incense steaming up, 

87 



THE LOVING CUP 

Full-freighted with a fragrance fine 
As ever swooned on sense of mine, 
Is rare enough. — But then, ah me! 
How rarer every memory 
That, rising with it, wreathes and blends 
In forms and faces of my friends! 

Loving Cup ! in fancy still, 

1 clasp their hands, and feel the thrill 
Of fellowship that still endures 
While lips are theirs and wine is yours ! 
And while my memory journeys down 
The years that lead to Boston Town, 
Abide where first were rendered up 
Our mutual loves, O Loving Cup! 



SS 



SAY SOMETHING TO ME 

Say something to me ! I've waited so long — 

Waited and wondered in vain ; 
Only a sentence would fall like a song 

Over this listening pain — 
Over a silence that glowers and frowns, — 

Even my pencil to-night 
Slips in the dews of my sorrow and wounds 

Each tender word that I write. 



Say something to me — if only to tell 

Me you remember the past ; 
Let the sweet words, like the notes of a bell, 

Ring out my vigil at last. 
O it were better, far better than this 

Doubt and distrust in the breast, — 
For in the wine of a fanciful kiss 

I could taste Heaven, and — rest. 

89 



SAY SOMETHING TO ME 

Say something to me! I kneel and I plead, 

In my wild need, for a word; 
If my poor heart from this silence were freed, 

I could soar up like a bird 
In the glad morning, and twitter and sing, 

Carol and warble and cry 
Blithe as the lark as he cruises awing 

Over the deeps of the sky. 



90 



A WHOLLY UNSCHOLASTIC OPINION 

Plain hoss-sense in poetry-wrltin' 

Would jes knock sentiment a-kitin' ! 

Mostly poets is all star-gazin' 

And moanin' and groanin' and paraphrasin' ! 



91 



A SHORT'NIN' BREAD SONG— PIECED 
OUT 

Behine de hen-house, on my knees, 
Thought I hearn a chickin sneeze — 
Sneezed so hard wi' de whoopin'-cough 
I thought he'd sneeze his blame head off. 

Chorus 

Fotch dat dough f'um de kitchen-shed — 
Rake dem coals out hot an' red — 
Putt on de oven an' putt on de led, — 
Mammy's gwineter cook some short' nin'- 
bread. 

O I' got a house in Baltimo' — 
Street-kyars run right by my do' — 
Street-kyars run right by my gate, 
Hit's git up soon and set up late. 
Chorus 
92 



A SHORt'nIN' bread song PIECED OUT 

De raincrow hide in some ole tree 

An' holler out, all hoarse, at me 

Sayes, "When I sing, de rain hit po' 
So's you ain't 'bleedged to plow no mo' !" 

Chorus 

Ole man Toad, on High-low Hill, 
He steal my dram an' drink his fill,— 
Heels in the path, an' toes in the grass-— 
I-Iit ain't de fus' time an' shain't be de las' ! 
Chorus 

When corn-plantin' done come roun', 

Blackbird own de whole plowed-groun', 

Corn in de grain, as I've hearn said, 
Dat's de blackbird's short'nin' bread. 

Chorus 

De sweetes' chune what evah I heard 
Is de sairanade o' de mockin'-bird; 
Whilse de mou'nfullest an' de least I love 
Is de Sund'y-song o' de ole woods-dove. 

Chorus 
93 



A SHORT NIN BREAD SONG PIECED OUT 

I nevah ain't know, outside o' school, 
A smartah mare dan my ole mule, — 
I holler ''Wo," an' she go "gee," 
Des lak' de good Lord chast'nin' me. 

Chorus 

Hit's no houn'-pup I taken to raise 
Hain't nevah jes'ly airn' my praise: 
De mo' cawn-pone I feed dat pup, 
De mo' he des won't fatten up. 

Chorus 

I hangs a hoss-shoe ovah my head, 
An' I keeps a' ole sieve under de bed. 
So, quinchiquently, I sleep soun', 
Wid no ole witches pester'n' roun'. 

Chorus 

I jine de chu'ch las' Chuesday night, 
But when Sis Jane ain't treat me right 
I 'low her chu'ch ain' none o' mine, 
So I 'nounce to all J done on-jine. 

Chorus 

94 



CASSANDER 

"Cassander! O, Cassander! " — her mother's 

voice seems cle'r 
As ever, from the old back-porch, a-hollerin' fer 

her — 
Especially in airly Spring — like May, two year' 

ago— 
Last time she hollered fer her, — and Cassander 

didn't hear! 

Cassander wuz so chirpy-like and sociable and free, 
And good to ever'body, and wuz even good to me 
Though / wuz jes a common — well, a farm- 
hand, don't you know, 
A-workin' on her father's place, as pore as pore 
could be ! 

Her bein* jes a' only child, Cassander had her way 
A good-'eal more'n other girls; and neighbers ust 
to say 

95 



CASSANDER 



She looked most like her Mother, but wuz turned 
most like her Pap, — 
Except he had no use fer town-ioSk.^ then — nox yit 
to-day I 



I can't claim she incouraged me: She'd let me 

drive her in 
To town sometimes, on Saturd'ys, and fetch her 

home ag'in, 
Tel onc't she 'sensed "Old Moll" and me, — 

and some blame city-chap. 
He driv her home, two-forty style, in face o' kith 

and kin. 



She even tried to make him stay fer supper, but 

I 'low 
He must 'a'-kindo' 'spicioned some objections. — 

Anyhow, 
Her mother callin' at her, whilse her father 

stood and shook 
His fist, — the town-chap turnt his team and made 

his partin' bow. 

96 



CASSANDER 

*'Cassander! Tou^ Cassander!" — hear her 
mother jes as plain, 

^And see Cassander blushin' like the peach-tree 
down the lane, 
Whilse I sneaked on apast her, with a sort o' 
hangdog look, 

A-feelin' cheap as sorghum and as green as sugar- 
cane! 



(You see, I'd skooted when she met her town' 

beau — when, in fact, 
Ef I'd had sense I'd stayed fer her. — But sense 

wuz what I lacked ! 
So I'd cut home ahead o' her, so's I could tell 

'em what 
Wuz keepin' her. And — -you know how a jealous 

fool '11 act I) 



I past her, I wuz sayin/ — but she never turnt her 

head ; 
I swallered-like and cle'red my th'oat — but that 

wuz all I said ; 

97 



CASSANDER 



And whilse I hoped fer some word back, it 
wuzn't what I got. — 
That girl '11 not stay stiller on the day she's layin' 
dead! 



Well, that-air silence lasted! — Ust to listen ever'- 

day 
I'd be at work and hear her mother callin' thata- 

way; 
I'd sight Cassander, mayby, cuttin' home acrost 

the blue 
And drizzly fields ; but nary answer — nary word 

to say! 



Putt in about two weeks o' that — two weeks o' 
rain and mud, 

Er mostly so: I couldn't plow. The old crick 
like a flood: 
And, lonesome as a borried dog, I'd wade them 
old woods through — 

The dogwood blossoms white as snow, and red- 
buds red as blood. 

98 



CASSANDER 

Last time her mother called her — sich a morning 

like as now: 
The robins and the bluebirds, and the blossoms on 

the bough — 
And this wuz yit 'fore brekfust, with the sun 

out at his best, 
And bosses kickin' in the barn — and dry enough 

to plow. 



"Cassander! (9, Cassander!" . . . And her only 

answer — What ? — 
A letter, twisted round the cookstove-damper, 

smokin'-hot, 
A-statin': "I wuz married on that day of all 

the rest. 
The day my husband fetched me home — ef you 

ain't all fergot!" 



"Cassander! O, Cassander!" seems, alius, 'long 

in May, 
I hear her mother callin' her — a-callin% night and 

day — 

1 99 



CASSANDER 

^'Cassander! O, Cassander!" alius callin', as I 
say, 
■Cassander! O, Cassander!" jes a-callin' that- 
away. 



lOO 



EUGENE FIELD 

With gentlest tears, no less than jubilee 

Of blithest joy, we heard him, and still hear 
Him singing on, with full voice, pure and clear, 

Uplifted, as some classic melody 

In sweetest legends of old minstrelsy ; 
Or, swarming Elfin-like upon the ear, 
His airy notes make all the atmosphere 

One blur of bird and bee and lullaby. 

His tribute : — Luster in the faded bloom 
Of cheeks of old, old mothers ; and the fall 
Of gracious dews in eyes long dry and dim ; 

And hope in lovers' pathways midst perfume 
Of woodland haunts; and — meed exceeding 

all,— 
The love of little children laurels him. 

lOI 



A BALLAD— 

WITH A SERIOUS CONCLUSION 

Crowd about me, little children — 
Come and cluster 'round my knee 

While I tell a Jittle story 

That happened once with me. 

My father he had gone away 

A-sailing on the foam, 
Leaving me — the merest infant — 

And my mother dear at home ; 

For my father was a sailor, 
And he sailed the ocean o'er 

For full five years ere yet again 
He reached his native shore. 

And I had grown up rugged 
And healthy day" by day, 

Though I was but a puny babe 
When father went away. 

I02 



A BALLAD 

Poor mother she would kiss me 
And look at me and sigh 

So strangely, oft I wondered 
And would ask the reason why. 

And she would answer sadly, 
Between her sobs and tears, — 
"You look so like your father, 
Far away so many years!'* 

And then she would caress me 
And brush my hair away. 

And tell me not to question, 
But to run about my play. 

Thus I went playing thoughtfully — 
For that my mother said, — 
' ' Tou look so like your father I ' ' 
Kept ringing in my head, — 

So, ranging once the golden sands 
That looked out on the sea, 

I called aloud, "My father dear, 
Come back to ma and me!'* 
103 



A BALLAD 

Then I saw a glancing shadow 
On the sand, and heard the shriek 

Of a seagull flying seaward, 

And I heard a gruff voice speak: 

'Aye, aye, my little shipmate, 
I thought I heard you hail; 
Were you trumpeting that seagull, 
Or do you see a sail?" 

And as rough and gruff a sailor 

As ever sailed the sea 
Was standing near grotesquely 

And leering dreadfully. 

I replied, though I was frightened,- 

"It was my father dear 
I was calling for across the sea — 

I think he didn't hear." 

And then the sailor leered again 

In such a frightful way. 
And made so many faces 

I was little loath to stay. 
104 V 



A BALLAD 

But he Started fiercely toward me — 

Then made a sudden halt 
And roared, "/think he heard you!" 

And turned a somersault. 

Then a wild fear overcame me, 
And I flew off like the wind. 

Shrieking '•'-Mother!'' — and the sailor 
Just a little way behind! 

And then my mother heard me, 
And I saw her shade her eyes, 

Looking toward me from the doorway, 
Transfixed with pale surprise 

For a moment — then her features 
Glowed with all their wonted charms 

As the sailor overtook me. 
And I fainted in her arms. 

When I awoke to reason 

I shuddered with affright 
Tijl I felt my mother's presence 

With a thrill of wild delight— 



A BALLAD 

Till, amid a shower of kisses 
Falling glad as summer rain, 

A muffled thunder rumbled, — 
"Is he coming 'round again?" 

Then I shrieked and clung unto her, 
While her features flushed and burned 

As she told me it was father 
From a foreign land returned. 

I said — when I was calm again, 
And thoughtfully once more 

Had dwelt upon my mother's words 
Of just the day before, — 

"I don't look like my father. 
As you told me yesterday — 
I know I don't — or father 

Would have run the other way." 



io6 



THE GREEN GRASS OF OLD IRELAND 

The green grass av owld Ireland ! 

Whilst I be far away, 
All fresh an' clean an' jewel-green 

It's growin' there to-day. 
Oh, it's cleaner, greener growin' — 

All the grassy worrld around, 
It's greener yet nor any grass 

That grows on top o' ground! 

The green grass av owld Ireland, 

Indade, an' balm 't 'u'd be 
To eyes like mine that drip wid brine 

As salty as the sea ! 
For still the more I'm stoppin' here, 

The more I'm sore to see 
The glory av the green grass av owld Ireland 

Ten years ye've paid my airnin's — 

I've the I'avin's on the shelf, 
Though I be here widout a queen 

An' own meself meself : 



THE GREEN GRASS OF OLD IRELAND 

I'm comin' over steerage, 

But I'm goin' back firrst-class, 
Patrolin' av the foremost deck 

For firrst sight av the grass. 

God bless yez, free Ameriky! 

I love yez, dock and shore! 
I kem to yez in poverty 

That's worstin' me no more. 
But most I'm lovin' Erin yet, 

Wid all her graves, d'ye see, 
By reason av the green grass av owld Ireland. 



:o8 



AT HIS WINTRY TENT 

SAMUEL RICHARDS ARTIST DENVER, COLORADO 

Not only master of his art was he, 

But master of his spirit — winged indeed 

For lordliest height, yet poised for lowliest need 

Of those, alas ! upheld less buoyantly. 

He gloried even in adversity. 

And won his country's plaudits, and the meed 
Of Old World praise, as one loath to succeed 

While others were denied like victory. 

Though passed, I count him still my master-friend, 
Invincible as through his mortal fight, — 

The laughing light of faith still in his eye 

As, at his wintry tent, pitched at the end 
Of life, he gaily called tome "Good-night, 

Old friend, good-night — for there is no good-bye.'* 
109 



OUR QUEER OLD WORLD 

Fer them ^afs here in airliest infant stages^ 

Ifs a hard world : 
Fer them ' at gits the knocks of boyhood's ages^ 

Ifs a mean world: 
For them 'at nothin' s good enough they'regittin% 

Ifs a bad world: 
Fer them 'at learns at last whafs right andfttin\ 

Ifs a good world. 

The Hired Man. 

It's a purty hard world you find, my child — 

It's a purty hard world you find! 
You fight, little rascal ! and kick and squall, 
And snort out medicine, spoon and all! 

When you're here longer you'll change yer mind 
And simmer down sorto' half-rickonciled. 
But now — Jee!- 
J^ !-mun-nee! 
It's a purty hard world, my child! 
no 



OUR QUEER OLD WORLD 

It's a purty mean world you're in, my lad — 

It's a purty mean world you're in ! 
We know, of course, in your schoolboy-days 
It's a world of too many troublesome ways 

Of tryin' things over and startin' ag'in, — 
Yit your chance beats what your parents had. 
But now — O ! 
Fire-and-tow I 
It's a purty mean world, my lad! 



It's a purty bad world you've struck, young chap — ■ 

It's a purty bad world you've struck — 
But study the cards that you hold, you know, 
And your hopes will sprout and your mustache 

grow, 
And your store-clothes likely will change your 

luck. 
And you'll rake a rich ladybird into yer lap! 

But now — Doubt 

All things out. — 
It's a purty mean world, young chap! 



Ill 



OUR QUEER OLD WORLD 

It's a purty good world this is, old man — 

I 's a purty good world this Is! 
For all its follies and shows and lies — 
It's rainy weather, and cheeks likewise, 

And age, hard-hearin' and rheumatiz. — 
We're not a-faultin' the Lord's own plan — 
All things jest 
At their best. — 
It's a purty good world, old man! 



113 



THE UNHEARD 



One in the musical throng 
Stood forth with his violin ; 

And warm was his welcome, and long 
The later applause and the din. — 

He had uttered, with masterful skill, 
A melody hailed of men ; 

And his own blood leapt a-thrill, 

As they thundered again. 



II 



Another stood forth. — And a rose 

Bloomed in her hair — likewise 
One at her tremulous throat — 

And a rapture bloomed in her eyes. 
Tempests of cheers upon cheers, 

Praises to last a life long; 
Roses in showers of tears — 
All for her song. 
11^ 



THE UNHEARD 



III 



One sat apart and alone, 

Her lips clasped close and straight, 
Uttering never a tone 

That the World might hear, elate — 
Uttering never a low 

Murmurous verse nor a part 
Of the veriest song — But O 

The song in her heart! 



114 



THE RHYMES OF IRONQUILL 

I've alius held — till jest of late — 

That Poetry and me 
Got on best, not to 'sociate — 

That is, 'most poetry ; 
But t'other day my son-in-law^ 

Milt — ben in town to mill — 
Fetched home a present-like, fer Ma, — 

The Rhymes of Ironquill. 

Milt ust to teach ; and, 'course, his views 

Ranks over common sense; — 
That's biased me, till I refuse 

'Most all he rickommends. — 
But Ma she read and read along 

And cried, like women will, 
About that "Washerwoman's Song'* 

In Rhymes of Ironquill. 
8 115 



THE RHYMES OF IRONQUILL 

And then she made me read the thing, 

And found my specs and all : 
And I jest leant back there — i jing — 

My cheer ag'inst the wall — 
And read and read, and read and read^ 

All to myse'f — ontll 
I lit the lamp and went to bed 

With Rhymes of Ironquill ! 



I propped myse'f up there, and — durnt — 

I never shet an eye 
Till daylight! — hogged the whole concern 

Tee-total, mighty nigh ! — 
I'd sigh sometimes, and cry sometimes, 

Er laugh jest fit to kill — 
Clean ca^tured-Y<k^ with them-air rhymes 

O' that-air Ironquill! 



Read that-un 'bout old "Marmaton'* 
'At hain't ben ever "sized" 

In Song before — and yit's rolled on 
Jest same as apostrophized ! — 
ii6 



THE RHYMES OF IRONQUILL 

Putt me in mind o' our old crick 
At Freefort — and the mill — 

x\nd Hinchman'sFord — till jest home^iok.- 
Them Rhymes of Ironquill ! 



Read that-un, too, 'bout *'Game o' Whist/' 

And likenin' Life to fun 
Like that — and playin' out yer fist, 

However cards is run: 
And them "Tobacker-Stemmers* Song" 

They sung with sich a will 
Down 'mongst the misery and wrong — 

In Rhymes of Ironquill. 



And old John Brown, who broke the sod 

Of Freedom's fallor field 
And sowed his heart there, thankin' God 

Pore slaves would git the yield — 
Rained his last tears fer them and us 

To irrigate and till 
A crop of Song as glorious 

As Rhymes of Ironquill. 
117 



THE RHYMES OF IRONQUILL 

And — sergeant, died there in the War, 

'At talked, out of his head . 
He went "back to the Violet Star," 

I'll bet — jest like he said! — 
Yer Wars kin riddle bone and flesh. 

And blow out brains, and spill 
Life-blood, — ^but Somefin' lives on, fresh 

As Rhymes of Ironquill. 



ii8 



EQUITY—? 

The meanest man I ever saw 

Alius kep' inside o' the law; 

And ten-times better fellers I've knowed 

The blame gran'-jury's sent over the road. 



119 



THE SMITTEN PURIST 

AND THE CHARMING MISS SMITH 's EFFECT UPON HIM 

Thweet Poethy! let me lithp forethwith, 
That I may thhing of the name of Smith — 

Which name, alath ! 

In Plarmony hath 
No adequate rhyme, letht you grant me thith, — 
That the thimple thibillant thound of eth — 
(Which to thave my thoul, I can not expreth!) 

Thuth I may thhingingly, 

Wooing and winningly 
Thu — thu — thound in the name of Smith. 



O give me a name that will rhyme with Smith, — 
For wild and weird ath the sthrange name ith, 

I would sthrangle a sthrain 

And a thad refrain 

I20 



THE SMITTEN PURIST 

Faint and sthvveet ath a whithpered kissth ; 
I would thhing thome thong for the luythtic mith 
Who beareth the thingular name of Smith — 
The sthrangely curiouth, 
Rich and luxuriouth 
Ap — pup — pellation of Smith ! 

had I a name that would rhyme with Smith — 
Thome rythmical tincture of rethonant blith — 

Thome melody rare 
Ath the cherubth blare 
On them little trumpeths they're foolin' with — 

1 would thit me down, and I'd thhing like thith 
Of the girl of the thingular name of Smith — 

The sthrangely curiouth, 
Rich and luxuriouth 
Pup — patronymic of Smith ! 



121 



IN THE EVENING 



In the evening of our days, 

When the first far stars above 
Glimmer dimmer, through the haze, 

Than the dev^y eyes of love. 
Shall we mournfully revert 

To the vanished morns and Mays 
Of our youth, v^ith hearts that hurt,- 

In the evening of our days ? 

II 

Shall the hand that holds your own 

Till the tw^ain are thrilled as now,- 
Be withheld, or colder grown? 

Shall my kiss upon your brow 
Falter from its high estate ? 

And, in all forgetful ways. 
Shall we sit apart and wait — 

In the evening of our days? 

122 



IN THE EVENING 
III 

Nay, my wife —my life!— the gloom 

Shall enfold us velvetwise, 
And my smile shall be the groom 

Of the gladness of your eyes : 
Gently, gently as the dew 

Mingles with the darkening maze, 
I shall fall asleep with you 

In the evening of our days. 



23 



MOONSHINER'S SERENADE 

The night's blind-black, an' I 'low the stars's 

All skeered at that-air dog's bow-wows! 
I sensed the woods-road, dumb the bars, 

An' arrove here, tromplin' over cows. 
The mist hangs thick enough to cut. 

But there's her light a-glimmerin' through 
The mornin'-glories, twisted shut — 

An' shorely there's her shadder too! 

Ho I hifs good-nighty 

My Beauty -Bright I 

The moon cainH ?natch your candle-light — 

Tour candle-light -with you cainH shine, 

Lau-reel Ladylove I tiptoe-Jinel 

Oomh! how them roses soaks the air! — 

Thess drenched with mist an' renched with 
dew! 
They's a smell o' plums, too, 'round somewhere — 
An' I kin smell ripe apples, too. 
124 



moonshiner's serenade 

Mix all them sweet things into one, — 
Yer roses, fmit, an' flower an' vine, 

Yit I'll say, "No, I don't choose none, 
Ef I kin git that girl of mine!" 

Hoi hifs good-nighty 

My Beauty-Bright I 

Primp a while ^ an^ blow out the 

Putt me ill your prayers^ an' then 

Til be txvic't as good-again ! 



25 



THE SILENT SINGER 

MRS. D. M. JORDAN, APRIL 29, 1895 

All sudden she hath ceased to sing, 
Hushed in eternal slumbering, 

And we make moan that she is dead. — 
Nay; peace! be comforted. 

Between her singing and her tears 
She pauses, listening — and she hears 
The Song we can not hear. — And thus 
She mutely pities us. 

Could she speak out, we doubt not she 
Would turn to us full tenderly. 
And in the old melodious voice 

Say: "Weep not, but rejoice." 

Aye, musical as waters run 
In woodland rills through shade and sun. 
The sweet voice would flow on and say,- 
"Be glad with me to-day. — 
126 



THE SILENT SINGER 

"Your Earth was very dear and fair 
To me — the groves and grasses there ; 
The bursting buds and blossoms — O 
I always loved them so ! — 

"The very dews within them seemed 
Reflected by mine eyes and gleamed 
Adown my cheeks in what you knew 
As ' tears,' and not as dew. 

"Your birds, too, in the orchard boughs— 
I could not hear them from the house 
But I must leave my work and stray 
Out in the open day 

"And the illimitable range 
Of their vast freedom — always strange 
And new to me — It pierced my heart 
With sweetness as a dart! — 

"The singing! singing! singing! — All 
The trees bloomed blossoms musical 

That chirped and trilled and warbled till 
My whole soul seemed to fill 
127 



THE SILENT SINGER 

•'To overflow with music, so 
That I have found me kneeling low 

In the lush grass, with murmurous words 
Thanking God and — the birds. 

•'So with the ones to me most dear — 
I loved them, as I love them Here : 
Bear with my memory, therefore, 
As when in days of yore, 

'O friends of mine, ye praised the note 
Of some song, quavering from my throat 
Out of the overstress of love 
And all the pain thereof. 



'And ye, too, do I love with this 
Same love — and Heaven knows all it is,— 
The birds' song in it — bud and bloom — 
The turf, but not the tomb." 



Between her singing and her tears 
She pauses, listening — and she hears 
The Song we can not hear. — And thus 
She mutely pities us. 
128 



A PEACE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 

LOUISVILLE, KY., SEPT. 12, 1895 : 29TH ENCAMP- 
MENT G. A. R. 

There's a Voice across the Nation like a mighty 
ocean-hail, 

Borne up from out the Southland as the seas be- 
fore the gale ; 

Its breath is in the streaming flag and in the flying 
sail — 

As we go sailing on. 

'Tis a Voice that we remember — ere its summons 

soothed as now — 
When it rang in battle-challenge, and we answered 

vow with vow, — 
With roar of gun and hiss of sword and crash of 
prow and prow. 

As we went sailing on. 
129 



A PEACE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 

Our hope sank, even as we saw the sun sink faint 
and far, — 

The Ship of State went groping through the blind- 
ing smoke of War — 

Through blackest midnight lurching, all uncheered 
of moon or star, 

Yet sailing — sailing on. 

As One who spake the dead awake, with life-blood 

leaping warm — 
Who walked the troubled waters, all unscathed, in 

mortal form, — 
We felt our Pilot's presence with His hand upon 

the storm. 

As we went sailing on. 

O Voice of passion lulled to peace, this dawning 

of To-day— 
O Voices twain now blent as one, ye sing all fears 

away. 
Since foe and foe are friends, and lo! the Lord, as 
glad as they.— 

He sends us sailing on. 
130 



ONE WITH A SONG 

FRANK L. STANTON 

He sings : and his song is heard, 

Pure as a joyous prayer, 
Because he sings of the simple things — 

The fields, and the open air, 
The orchard-bough, and the mockingbird, 

And the blossoms everywhere. 

He sings of a wealth we hold 

In common ownership — 
The wildwood nook, and the laugh of the 
brook, 

And the dewdrop's drip and drip. 
The love of the lily's heart of gold, 

And the kiss of the rose's lip. 

The universal heart 

Leans listening to his lay 
That glints and gleams with the glimmering 
dreams 
9 131 



ONE WITH A SONG 

Of children at their play — 
A lay as rich with unconscious art 
As the first song-bird's of May. 

Ours every rapturous tone 

Of every song of glee, 
Because his voice makes native choice 

Of Nature's harmony — 
So that his singing seems our own, 

And ours his ecstasy. 

Steadfastly, bravely glad 

Above all earthly stress. 
He lifts his line to heights divine, 

And, singing, ever says, — 
This is a better world than bad — 

God's love is limitless. 

He sings : and his song is heard, 

Pure as a joyous prayer. 
Because he sings of the simple things — 

The fields, and the open air, 
The orchard-bough, and the mockingbird, 

And the blossoms everywhere. 
132 



MR. FOLEY'S CHRISTMAS 

'-''There' s nothing sweet in. the city 
But the patient lives of the poor.''* 

John Boyle O'Reilly 



Since pick av them I'm sore denied 

Twixt play or work, I say, 
Though it be Christmas, I decide 

I'll work whilst others play: 
I'll whustle, too, wid Christmas pride 

To airn me extry pay. — 
It's like the job's more glorified 

That's done a-holiday! 

Dan, dip a coal in dad's pipe-bowl; 

Kate, pass me dinner-can: 
Och! Mary woman, save yer sowl, 

Ye've kissed a workin'-man — 
Ye have, this Christmas mornin% 

Ye've kissed a workin'-man! 

133 



MR. FOLEY S CHRISTMAS 



II 



Whisht, Kate an' Dan ! — ten thousan' grates 

There's yon where ne'er a charm 
Av childer-faces sanctuates 

The city-homes from harm : 
It's cold out there the weather waits 

An' bitter whirls the storm, 
But, faith ! these arms av little Kate's 

'LI kape her f ayther warm ! 

Ay, Danny, tight me belt a mite, — 

Kate, aisy wid the can! — 
Sure, I'd be comin' home to-night 

A hungry workin'-man — 
D'ye moind, this Christmas avenin' — - 

A howlin'-hungry man! 

Ill 

It's sorry for the boss I be, 

Wid new contracts to sign 
An' hire a sub to oversee 

Whilst he lave off an' dine: 



MR. FOLEY S CHRISTMAS 

It's sorry for the Company 

That owns the Aarie Line — 
What vasht raasponshibility 

They have, compared wid mine ! 

There, Katy! git me t'other mitt, 
An' fetch me yon from Dan — 

(Wid each one's "Christmas" hid in it!) 
Lave go me dinner-can! — 

Ye' 11 have me docked this mornin' — 

This blessed Christmas mornin', — 
A dishgraced workin'-mani 



135 



AT SEA 

O WE go down to sea in ships — 

But Hope remains behind, 
And Love, with laughter on his lips, 

And Peace, of passive mind ; 
While out across the deeps of night, 

With lifted sails of prayer, 
We voyage off in quest of light. 

Nor find it anywhere. 

O Thou who wroughtest earth and sea, 

Yet keepest from our eyes 
The shores of an eternity 

In calms of Paradise, 
Blow back upon our foolish quest 

With all the driving rain 
Of blinding tears and wild unrest, 

And waft us home again. 
136 



WHAT THE WIND SAID 



THE EDGE OF THE WIND 



Te stars in ye skies seem twiitkling 

In icicles of light ^ 
And ye edge of ye wind cuts keener 

Than ever ye sword-edge might; 
Ye footstefs crunch in ye courtway, 

And ye trough aiid ye cask go ' '•ping! ' ' 
Te chi7za cracks in ye pantry^ 

And ye crickets cease to sing. 



WHAT THE WIND SAID 

I muse to-day^ in a listless way, 
In the glemn of a stmnner la?id ; 

I close my eyes as a lover ?nay 

At the touch of his sweetheart' s hand, 

And I hear these things in the whisperings 
Of the zephyrs ^roitnd me fanned : — 

I am the Wind, and I rule mankind, 

And I hold a sovereign reign 
Over the lands, as God designed, 

And the waters they contain : 
Lo ! the bound of the wide world round 

Falleth in my domain ! 

I was born on a stormy morn 

In a kingdom walled with snow, 
Whose crystal cities laugh to scorn 

139 



WHAT THE WIND SAID 

The proudest the world can show ; 
And the daylight's glare is frozen there 
In the breath of the blasts that blow. 

Life to me was a jubilee 

From the first of my youthful days: 
Clinking my icy toys with glee — 

Playing my childish plays ; 
Filling my hands with the silver sands 

To scatter a thousand ways: 

Chasing the flakes that the Polar shakes 

From his shaggy coat of white, 
Or hunting the trace of the track he makes 

And sweeping it from sight, 
As he turned to glare from the slippery stair 

Of the iceberg's farthest height. 

Till I grew so strong that I strayed ere long 
From my home of ice and chill ; 

With an eager heart and a meriy song 
I traveled the snows until 

I heard the thaws in the ice-crag's jaws 
Crunched with a hungry will; 
140 



WHAT THE WIND SAID 

And the angry crash of the waves that dash 

Themselves on the jagged shore 
Where the splintered masts of the ice-wrecks flash, 

And the frightened breakers roar 
In wild unrest on the ocean's breast 

For a thousand leagues or more. 

And the grand old sea invited me 

With a million beckoning hands, 
And I spread my wings for a flight as free 

As ever a sailor plans 
When his thoughts are wild and his heart beguiled 

With the dreams of foreign lands. 

I passed a ship on Its homeward trip, 

With a weary and toil-worn crew ; 
And I kissed their flag with a welcome lip, 

And so glad a gale I blew 
That the sailors quaffed their grog and laughed 

At the work I made them do. 

I drifted by where sea-groves lie 
Like brides in the fond caress 
Of the warm sunshine and the tender sky — 
141 



WHAT THE WIND SAID 

Where the ocean, passionless 
And tranquil, lies like a child whose eyes 
Are blurred with drowsiness. 

I drank the air and the perfume there, 

And bathed in a fountain's spray; 
And I smoothed the wings and the plumage rare 

Of a bird for his roundelay, 
And fluttered a rag from a signal-crag 

For a wretched castaway. 

With a seagull resting on my breast, 

I launched on a madder flight : 
And I lashed the waves to a wild unrest, 

And howled with a fierce delight 
Till the daylight slept ; and I wailed and wept 

Like a fretful babe all night. 

For I heard the boom of a gun strike doom ; 

And the gleam of a blood-red star 
Glared at me through the mirk and gloom 

From the lighthouse tower afar ; 
And I held my breath at the shriek of death 

That came from the harbor bar. 
142 



WHAT THE WIND SAID 

For I am the Wind, and I rule mankind, 

And I hold a sovereign reign 
Over the lands, as God designed, 

And the waters they contain : 
Lo ! the bound of the wide world round 

Falleth in my domain ! 

I journeyed on, when the night was gone, 

O'er a coast of oak and pine ; 
And I followed a path that a stream had drawn 

Through a land of vale and vine. 
And here and there was a village fair 

In a nest of shade and shine. 

I passed o'er lakes where the sunshine shakes 

And shivers his golden lance 
On the glittering shield of the wave that breaks 

Where the fish-boats dip and dance, 
And the trader sails where the mist unveils 

The glory of old romance. 

I joyed to stand where the jeweled hand 

Of the maiden-morning lies 
On the tawny brow of the mountain-land, 
143 



WHAT THE WIND SAID 



Where the eagle shrieks and cries, 
And holds his throne to himself alone 
From the light of human eyes. 



Adown deep glades where the forest shades 

Are dim as the dusk of day — 
Where only the foot of the wild beast wades, 

Or the Indian dares to stray, 
As the blacksnakes glide through the reeds and hide 

In the swamp-depths grim and gray. 



And I turned and fled from the place of dread 

To the far-off haunts of men, 
"In the city's heart is rest," I said, — 

But I found it not, and when 
I saw but care and vice reign there 

I was filled with wrath again : 



And I blew a spark in the midnight dark 

Till it flashed to an angry flame 
And scarred the sky with a lurid mark 
144 



WHAT THE WIND SAID 

As red as the blush of shame : 
And a hint of hell was the dying yell 
That up from the ruins came. 

The bells went wild, and the black smoke piled 

Its pillars against the night, 
Till I gathered them, like flocks defiled, 

And scattered them left and right. 
While the holocaust's red tresses tossed 

As a maddened Fury's might. 

"Ye overthrown!" did I jeer and groan — 
"Ho! who is your master? — say! — 

Ye shapes that writhe in the slag and moan 
Your slow-charred souls away — 

Ye worse than worst of things accurst — 
Ye dead leaves of a day!" 

I am the Wind, and I rule mankind, 

And I hold a sovereign reign 
Over the lands, as God designed, 

And the waters they contain : 
Lo ! the bound of the wide world round 

Falleth in my domain! 

H5 



WHAT THE WIND SAID 

I wake^ as one fro7n a dream half done^ 
And gaze with a dazzled eye 

On an autumn leaf like a scrap of sun 
That the wind goes whirling by, 

While afar I hear ^ with a chill of fear ^ 
The winter storm-king sigh. 



146 



I 



THE NOBLEST SERVICE 

DR. WYCKLIFFE SMITH LATE SURGEON 161ST REG- 
IMENT IND. VOLS., DELPHI, DEC. 29, 1899 

If all his mourning friends unselfishly 

Might speak, high over grief, in one accord, 
What voice of joy were lifted to the Lord 

For having lent our need such ministry 

As this man's life has ever proved to be! 

Yea, even through battle-crash of gun and sword 
His steadfast step still found the pathway toward 

The noblest service paid Humanity. 

O ye to whose rich firesides he has brought 
A richer light ! O watcher at the door 

Of the lone cabin! O kindred! Comrades! — all! 

Since universal good he dreamed and wrought. 
Be brave, to pleasure him, as, on before. 

He leads us, answering Glory's highest call. 
10 147 



THE OLD GUITAR 

Neglected now is the old guitar 

And moldering into decay ; 
Fretted with many a rift and scar 

That the dull dust hides away, 
While the spider spins a silver star 

In its silent lips to-day. 

The keys hold only nerveless strings — 

The sinews of brave old airs 
Are pulseless now ; and the scarf that clings 

So closely here declares 
A sad regret in its ravelings 

And the faded hue it wears. 

But the old guitar, with a lenient grace, 
Has cherished a smile for me; 

And its features hint of a fairer face 
That comes with a memory 

Of a flower-and-perfume-haunted place 
And a moonlit balcony. 
148 



THE OLD GUITAR 

Music sweeter than words confess 
Or the minstrel's powers invent, 

Thrilled here once at the light caress 
Of the fairy hands that lent 

This excuse for the kiss I press 
On the dear old instrument. 

The rose of pearl with the jeweled stem 

Still blooms ; and the tiny sets 
In the circle all are here ; the gem 

In the keys, and the silver frets ; 
But the dainty fingers that danced o'er them- 

Alas for the heart's regrets! — 

Alas for the loosened strings to-day, 
And the wounds of rift and scar 

On a worn old heart, with its roundelay 
Enthralled with a stronger bar 

That Fate weaves on, through a dull decay 
Like that of the old guitar! 



149 



AN IDIOT 

I'm on'y thist a' idiot — 
. That's what folks calls a feller what 
Ain't got no mind 
Of any kind, 
Ner don't know nothin' he's forgot. — 
I'm one o' them — But I know why 
The bees buzz this way when they fly, — 
'Cause honey it gits on their wings. 
Ain't thumbs and fingers funny things? 

What's money? Hooh! it's thist a hole 
Punched in a round thing 'at won't roll 
'Cause they's a string 

Poked through the thing 
And fastened round your neck — that's all! 
Ef I could git my money off, 
I'd buy whole lots o' whoopin'-cough 
And give it to the boy next door 
Who died 'cause he ain't got no more. 
150 



AN IDIOT 

What is it when you die? /know, — 
You can't wake up ag'in, ner go 
To sleep no more — 

Ner kick, ner snore, 
Ner lay and look and watch it snow ; 

And when folks slaps and pinches you — 
You don't keer nothin' what they do. 
No honey on the angels^ wings ! 
Ain't thumbs and fingers funny things? 



151 



THE ENDURING 

A MISTY memory — faint, far away 
And vague and dim as childhood's long-lost day — 
Forever haunts and holds me with a spell 
Of awe and wonder indefinable: — 
A grimy old engraving tacked upon 
A shoeshop wall. — An ancient temple, drawn 
Of crumbling granite, sagging portico 
And gray, forbidding gateway, grim as woe ; 
And o'er the portal, cut in antique line, 
The words — cut likewise in this brain of mine — 
"Wouldst have a friend? — Wouldst know what 

friend is best? 
Have GOD thy friend: He passeth all the 

rest." 

Again the old shoemaker pounds and pounds 
Resentfully, as the loud laugh resounds 
And the coarse jest is bandied round the throng 
That smokes about the smoldering stove ; and long. 



THE ENDURING 

Tempestuous disputes arise, and then — 
Even as all like discords — die again ; 
The while a barefoot boy more gravely heeds 
The quaint old picture, and tiptoeing reads 
There in the rainy gloom the legend o'er 
The lowering portal of the old church door — 

*'Wouldst have a friend? — Wouldst know what 
friend is best? 

Have GOD thy friend: He passeth all the 
rest." 

So older — older — older, year by year, 

The boy has grown, that now, an old man here, 

He seems a part of Allegory, where 

He stands before Life as the old print there — 

Still awed, and marveling what light must be 

Hid by the door that bars Futurity: — 

Though, ever clearer than with eyes of youth. 

He reads with his old eyes — and tears forsooth — 

"Wouldst have a friend? — Wouldst know what 
friend is best? 

Have GOD thy friend: He passeth all the 
rest." 



THE HIRED MAN'S FAITH IN CHIL- 
DREN 

I BELIEVE all childern's good, 
Ef they're only understood^ — 
Even bad ones, 'pears to me, 
'S jes as good as they kin be ! 



154 



THE NATURALIST 



OLIVER DAVIE 



In gentlest worship has he bowed 

To Nature. Rescued from the crowd 

And din of town and thoroughfare, 

He turns him from all worldly care 

Unto the sacred fastness of 

The forests, and the peace and love 

That breathes there prayer-like in the breeze 

And coo of doves in dreamful trees — 

Their tops in laps of sunshine laid, 

Their lower boughs all slaked with shade. 

With head uncovered has he stood. 
Hearing the Spirit of the Wood — 
Hearing aright the Master speak 
In trill of bird, and warbling creek; 
In lisp of reeds, or rainy sigh 
Of grasses as the loon darts by — 



THE NATURALIST 

Hearing aright the storm and kill, 
And all earth's voices wonderful,— 
Even this hail an unknown friend 
Lifts will he hear and comprehend. 



156 



AT CROWN HILL 

Leave him here in the fresh greening grasses and 

trees 
And the symbols of love, and the solace of these — 
The saintly white lilies and blossoms he keeps 
In endless caress as he breathlessly sleeps. 
The tears of our eyes wrong the scene of his rest, 
For the sky's at its clearest — the sun's at its best — 
The earth at its greenest — its wild bud-and-bloom 
At its sweetest — and sweetest its honied perfume. 

Home! home! — Leave him here in his lordly 
estate. 

And with never a tear as we turn from the gate ! 

Turn back to the home that will know him no 

more, — 
The vines at the window — the sun through the 

door. — 



AT CROWN HILL 

Nor sound of his voice, nor the light of his face ! 

But the birds will sing on, and the rose, in his 

place. 
Will tenderly smile till we daringly feign 
He is home with us still, though the tremulous rain 
Of our tears reappear, and again all is gloom, 
And all prayerless we sob in the long-darkened 
room. 
Heaven portions it thus — the old mystery dim, — 
It is midnight to us— it is morning to him. 



158 



THE BED 



**Thou, of all God's gifts the best, 
Blessed Bed!" I muse, and rest 
Thinking how it havened me 
In my dazed Infancy — 
Ere mine eyes could bear the kind 
Daylight through the window-blind. 
Or my lips, in yearning quest. 
Groping found the mother-breast. 
Or mine utterance but owned 
Minor sounds that sobbed and moaned. 

II 

Gracious Bed that nestled me 
Even ere the mother's knee, — 
Lulling me to slumber ere 
Conscious of my treasure there — 

159 



THE BED 

Save the tiny palms that kept 
Fondling, even as I slept, 
That rare dual-wealth of mine, — 
Softest pillow — sweetest wine! — 
Gentlest cheer for mortal guest, 
And of Love's fare lordliest. 

Ill 

^y thy grace, O Bed, the first 
Blooms of Boyhood-memories burst:— 
Dreams of riches, swift withdrawn 
As I, wakening, find the dawn 
With its glad Spring-face once more 
Glimmering on me as of yore ; 
Then the bluebird's limpid cry 
Lulls me like a lullaby. 
Till falls every failing sense 
Back to sleep's sheer impotence. 

IV 

Or, a truant, home again, — 
With the moonlight through the pane, 
1 60 



THE BED 

And the kiss that ends the prayer- 
Then the footsteps down the stair; 
And the close hush ; and far click 
Of the old clock ; and the thick 
Sweetness of the locust-bloom 
Drugging all the enchanted room 
Into darkness fathoms deep 
As mine own pure childish sleep. 



Gift and spell, O Bed, retell 
Every lovely miracle — 
Up from childhood's simplest dream 
Unto manhood's pride supreme! — 
Sacredness no words express, — 
Lo, the young wife's fond caress 
Of her first-born, while beside 
Bends the husband, tearful-eyed, 
Marveling of kiss and prayer 
Which of these is holier there. 
i6i 



THE BED 



VI 



Trace the vigils through the long, 
Long nights, when the cricket's song 
Stunned the sick man's fevered brain. 
As he tossed and moaned in pain 
Piteous — till thou, O Bed, 
Smoothed the pillows for his head, 
And thy soothest solace laid 
Round him, and his fever weighed 
Into slumber deep and cool. 
And divinely merciful. 

VII 

Thus, O Bed, all gratefully 
I would ever sing of thee — 
Till the final sleep shall fall 
O'er me, and the crickets call 
In the grasses where at last 
I am indolently cast 
Like a play- worn boy at will. — 
'Tis a Bed befriends me still — 
Yea, and Bed, belike, the best, 
Softest, safest, blessedest. 
162 



"THEM OLD CHEERY WORDS" 

Pap he alius ust to say, 

"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!" 
Liked to hear him that-a-way, 

In his old split-bottomed cheer 
By the fireplace here at night — 
Wood all in, — and room all bright, 
Warm and snug, and folks all here : 
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!" 

Me and 'Lize, and Warr'n and Jess 

And Eldory home fer two 
Weeks' vacation ; and, I guess. 

Old folks tickled through and through. 
Same as w^ was, — "Home onc't more 
Fer another Ghris'mus — shore!" 
Pap 'u'd say, and tilt his cheer, — 
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!" 
II 163 



THEM OLD CHEERY WORDS 

Mostly Pap was ap' to be 

Ser'ous in his "daily walk," 
As he called it ; giner'ly 

Was no hand to joke er talk. 
Fac's is, Pap had never be'n 
Rugged-like at all — and then 
Three years in the army had 
Hepped to break him purty bad. 



'Hqyqy flinched ! but frost and snow 
Hurt his wownd in winter. But 

You bet Mother knowed it, though! — 

Watched his feet, and made him putt 

On his flannen; and his knee. 

Where it never healed up, he 

Claimed was "well now — mighty near — 

Chris' mus comes but onc't a year!" 



■ Chris' mus comes but onc't a year!" 

Pap 'u'd say, and snap his eyes . . 

Row o' apples sputter'n' here 

Round the hearth, and me and 'Lize 
164 



THEM OLD CHEERY WORDS 

Crackin' hicker'-nuts ; and Warr'n 
And Eldory parchin' corn ; 
And whole raft o' young folks here. 
'Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!'* 



Mother tuk most comfort in 

Jest a-heppin' Pap: She'd fill 

His pipe fer him, er his tin 
O' hard cider; er set still 

And read fer him out the pile 

O' newspapers putt on file 

Whilse he was with Sherman — (She 

Knowed the whole war-history ! ) 



Sometimes he'd git het up some. — 

"Boys," he'd say, "and you girls, too, 

Chris'mus is about to come ; 

So, as you've a right to do, 

Celebrate it! Lots has died, 

Same as Him they crucified, 

That you might be happy here. 

Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!*' 

165 



THEM OLD CHEERY WORDS 

Missed his voice last Chris'mus — missed 
Them old cheery words, you know. 
Mother helt up tel she kissed 

All of us — then had to go 
And break down! And I laughs: *'Here! 
'Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!' " 
"Them's his very words," sobbed she, 
"When he asked to marry me." 

"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!" — 

"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!" 
Over, over, still I hear, 

"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!" 
Yit, like him, I'm goin' to smile 
And keep cheerful all the while : 
Alius Chris'mus There — And here 
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!" 



166 



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